


King under the Mountain

by Hot_elf



Series: Dragon Age - series 7 (Megan Cousland / Revon Hawke / Alec Trevelyan) [9]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, F/M, OT3, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further adventures of Thorin Oakenshield in Thedas - a sequel to "Keeping You Warm". Thorin has settled in nicely at Vigil's Keep, but Commander Cousland finds herself in need of a Warden ambassador to send to the dwarven city of Orzammar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patrol Duty

**Chapter 1 - Patrol Duty**

A sharp rap on the door tore Thorin from his slumber.

"Thorin. Wake up. We leave at dawn." Nathaniel's hoarse voice was unmistakable.

With a deep sigh, Thorin buried his face in Sigrun's tousled hair for a moment, breathing in her scent and savouring her warmth. She was utterly relaxed, heavy and almost boneless and he enjoyed her familiar weight settled across his chest. When he kissed her, her face scrunched up and she muttered something incomprehensible in her sleep, but her eyes remained firmly shut.

It was only when he gently pushed her aside and sat up that she blinked at him. "Thorin. Do you have to get up already?" A tiny smile played around her lips and she stretched, wiggling her full hips a little more than was strictly necessary. "Sure we don't have time for a little cuddling?"

"Cuddling, eh?" He felt sore and tired, but he could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She was way too adorable for him to stay grumpy for long. When she had shown up at his door last night with a jug of ale, wearing nothing at all under her furred cape, and proclaiming that he needed a proper send-off, he had been more than eager to take her up on her proposal. It was tempting to crawl back into bed with her, kiss those perky little breasts, feel her shiver and writhe under his caresses.

Yet, Nathaniel wasn't exactly known for being patient, and the archer would be in command of their patrol. Some part of Thorin was actually looking forward to being down in the Deep Roads. Fighting darkspawn was messy work, but satisfying, and he was dwarf enough to feel right at home in the tunnels deep under the mountains. The stone sang to him, enveloping him safely, and the fine handiwork of the stonemasons who had crafted the pillars and passageways made him think of home, the splendours of Khazad-dum and Erebor, the work of his ancestors.

Thorin reached for the chest piece of his armour, running his hands appreciatively over the dark grey material, admiring its faint reddish gleam. _Dragonbone_ , Wade had called it, and it was as fine a set as any he had ever owned, light and supple, yet strong enough to deflect almost any blade.

He was about to put his gambeson on, when Sigrun came up behind him, wrapping her naked body around him. Her nimble hands danced down his chest, tugging gently on the dark curls there before travelling further down.

He caught her wrist before she could take hold of him, though, growling back over his shoulder. "There's no time. You heard Nate."

With an exaggerated sigh Sigrun lay back, letting her hands trail down her naked body, arching up slightly when she reached the junction of her thighs. "Ah, such a pity. It's a good thing _I_ can sleep in at last. Though I might have to... relax a little first."

Her hand slid between her legs and she moaned softly. Thorin hovered at the edge of the bed, unable to take his eyes off her, when another sharp knock on the door tore him from his reverie.

"Thorin. Get going! Or you won't have time for breakfast." Carver's voice this time, with a decidedly amused undertone. Of course they all knew Sigrun was there. Their relationship was hardly a secret.

Biting back a curse, he got up and pulled on the padded vest, throwing her a dark look. "Just you wait until I get back!"

Sigrun smiled up at him beatifically, pinching her own nipple hard. "Looking forward to my punishment."

He groaned, but managed to tear himself away and quickly got ready for patrol duty. Before he left, he kissed her, quick and hard, doing his best to ignore the flush of arousal spreading over her pale skin. She gave him another cheeky grin, but as he turned to go, she took hold of his hand and made him look at her.

"Thorin. Be careful." Her bright blue eyes were full of love.

"I will." As the door fell shut behind him, he smiled to himself.

Sometimes he still couldn't believe his luck. It was hard to grasp what strange twist of fate had brought him here, to Thedas, to Sigrun's loving arms. He had been so sure his life was over, so ready to leave it all behind, once he knew the battle was won and the goblins were defeated. But Gandalf had had other plans. He spared a thought for the old wizard, wondering what he was up to these days. And all the others. Was the hobbit still alive, had he got back safely to his beloved Shire? Beorn, Bard, how were they faring? He would never know. His old life seemed like a dream now, impossibly far away, further than he had ever thought he'd venture. And yet it had been only three or four months since he'd come here.

Now he was a Grey Warden, his life devoted to slaying darkspawn and protecting his new home from the threat of a blight. He was no longer a king, no longer surrounded by his trusted company of dwarves, no longer devoted to a single goal. The Wardens had become his new family. Nathaniel, Carver, Oghren, Justice, Anders, even proud Velanna, the elven mage. He took orders from a human, a woman at that, yet there was no doubt that Megan Cousland was worthy of his allegiance. And he'd given his heart to Sigrun, his sweet, sassy, wonderful and impossible lover, so different from the dwarven women he'd known in his earlier life.

Nathaniel and the others were in the hall, grabbing a quick breakfast from a generously loaded tray placed on the big oaken table. Carver smiled at him over his sausage and roll, while Velanna gave him a cool nod. Nathaniel was all business, as usual, going over their route once more with Megan. The Commander wore a thin house-robe, and her hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were clear and her voice sharp as she pointed out several points on the map she wanted them to check out.

Once she was satisfied, she got up on her toes to place a kiss on Nathaniel's cheek. "Take care out there. I wish I could go with you, but there's so much official business waiting for me. I just hope-"

Nathaniel put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "We'll be fine, Meg. It's just a patrol."

"Of course you will." She smiled at him, their eyes locking for a moment before she turned to Carver and ruffled his hair tenderly, kissing him, too and grinning at his blush. "Show the darkspawn what a Warden can do." 

* * *

Thorin had snatched a look at the map while Nathaniel was discussing their route with Megan, and knew it was more than a day's march to the Deep Roads entrance they were headed for. It was a pleasant journey as those things went, through forests clad in the warm colours of autumn, past fallow fields and orchards full of ripe apples and pears. The Arling of Amaranthine was a prosperous country, now that it was recovering from the Blight.

They made camp in the early evening, in a quiet little copse they had used several times before. Nathaniel quickly set about cleaning out the fire pit, while Carver went looking for water and firewood. Thorin busied himself with setting up their two small tents, while Velanna went off in search of food. When she returned, carrying two squirrels strung up by their hind legs, the Elven mage threw him a haughty glare, proceeding to the campfire to talk to Nathaniel.

Thorin didn't mind. He was used to being mostly ignored by her. The elves of this world might not be as regal and impressive as Thranduil and his people, but they easily equalled the King of Mirkwood in arrogance. Or at least Velanna did. For a moment he almost smiled as he imagined the two of them meeting up. _They would have made a perfect couple._ Then Velanna's shrill tones reached his ears and he made a face.

"I hope you're not suggesting I share a tent with either of you, Nathaniel. I'd rather sleep under the stars." Thorin flinched at the icy contempt in her gaze, but Nathaniel just laughed.

"Still with the deadly looks, my lady?" The archer pointed to the smaller tent. "Don't worry, this one is all yours. The three of us can share the other one if we take turns keeping watch."

"I told you not to call me that," Velanna hissed. "But very well. I will take first watch while you are still awake."

For all her snappishness, the elf was as good as her word. After she had taken a few bites of their supper, she disappeared into the night to make sure they were safe. A task she was probably better equipped for than any of them, knowing those woods as she did. The men settled around the fire, discussing the upcoming mission until she came back and slunk off into her tent without so much as a glance at them.

Carver got up with a sigh. "I'll go next. You two better catch some sleep."

"I'm not tired. I might just wait up for you." Nathaniel gave him a cheeky grin that made Carver blush and Thorin shift uncomfortably.

Relationships in this world were handled a lot less formally than he was used to, and while he certainly appreciated Sigrun's favours, the... arrangement that had developed between Megan, Carver and Nathaniel still wasn't something he could quite approve of.

"What about you, Thorin? Tired?"  Nathaniel leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Or do you have time to tell me more about your past?"

Thorin shrugged. "If you like." Nathaniel was utterly fascinated by his tales of home, always hungry for more. He seemed to revel in the heroic tales of Durin's folk, his eyes lighting up at the retelling of the great battles of Mount Gundabad or Azanulbizar. Thorin was careful not to exaggerate his own role in those struggles, but Nathaniel was experienced enough to read between the lines as he described those past events.

"It can't be easy for you, taking orders from me and Megan. You are used to being a leader, a king." The archer's clear grey eyes were far too keen, Thorin thought.

He took his time answering, knowing Nathaniel wouldn't be satisfied with platitudes. "It is not easy." Instinctively he sat up straight and fixed the other man with his gaze. "I would be lying if I said that. Yet..." He took a deep breath. "This is not my world and I have no claim to lead here. I respect you and the Commander and I am grateful for all you have done for me. So, for the time being, I shall be content to follow you."

"For the time being, eh?" Nathaniel's lips curved upward in a small smile, but he seemed willing to let the topic rest.

They chatted for a while longer until Carver returned. Nathaniel greeted him with a smile, getting to his feet in a fluid motion and placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Carver. Come."

Thorin watched them disappear into the tent and set out to keep watch. When he came back a few hours later, more than ready for some rest, the two of them were fast asleep, locked in a tight embrace. He touched Nathaniel's shoulder to wake him, and the archer rose with a yawn, breathing a kiss against Carver's forehead before sneaking off into the darkness. Thorin wrinkled his nose at the odour of sex pervading the tent, but then curled up in his own bedroll with a resigned sigh. He was far too tired to be picky about their sleeping arrangements.

* * *

They entered the Deep Roads around noon the next day, through a gently sloping tunnel and a seemingly endless flight of stairs. Thorin breathed in the warm, dry air with relish. This time when they set up camp, there was no need to bother with tents. They settled down early, eager to catch up on some sleep.

Yet it was not to be. One by one they bolted upright, screams of horror dying on their lips as the vision of this shared dream branded itself upon their inner eyes. They all knew it for what it was, even Thorin who had only seen it once. An abomination, a ghoulish nightmare, all sagging breasts and pasty skin and evil red eyes.

_A broodmother._

 


	2. Taking Command

**Chapter 2 - Taking Command**

Thorin and the others tried to go back to sleep after their nightmarish vision, but one by one they gave up the attempt. There was no way they could banish the image of the broodmother from their minds, no way to find their way back to more pleasant dreams. It was fortunate they were all used to living on a bare minimum of sleep. Rubbing their weary eyes, they shared a mug of tea and a few hard biscuits, and prepared to break camp. Carver seemed most upset, and Nathaniel took a few minutes to talk quietly to him in a corner, his arm wrapped protectively around the younger man's shoulder. When he returned he seemed withdrawn, his patrician face wearing a forbidding expression.

Yet Thorin approached him, eager for more information. "What was this about, Nathaniel? Why did we all see the monster? Is it close?"

The archer sighed. "There's no way of knowing. It might be just a fluke, maybe some echo from the past or foreshadowing of a future event. Then again Carver thinks... Of course it's hard to tell with those things, but he said the broodmother looked familiar. Remember your first patrol? He showed me the spot where you were resting when you first saw her, and we're not all that far from it. See?" He pulled out a map and pointed out their location in the tunnels, then indicated a second spot.

Thorin rubbed his bearded chin in deliberation. "So what do we do? Do we go looking for the broodmother?"

Before Nathaniel could answer, Velanna stepped closer, a sneer on her lips. "Of course not. We should go back, make a report, and then maybe return with a larger force."

Nathaniel's lips thinned and a frown appeared on his forehead. "That is not your decision to make, Velanna. I say we explore a little further first. As I said, it may well be just a coincidence."

Velanna stared at him for a few heartbeats, then exhaled with an audible huff. "Four Wardens dreaming about a broodmother, the second time in a row, and you tell me it could be a coincidence! You're delusional, Howe."

Nathaniel raised himself to his full height, resting a hand on his dagger. "Enough! Are you trying to pick a fight?"

The elf opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she shrugged. "Suit yourself. I've long ceased to expect reasonable behaviour from human men. Or dwarves for that matter."

Thorin followed her with his gaze as she made her way to her pack, pulling on her gloves and gathering her staff. Her movements were jerky, betraying her annoyance. _Elves. Always too arrogant for their own good._

Nathaniel smiled at him. "What about you Thorin? Are you worried that this might prove too dangerous?"

Thorin raised his chin. "I'm not afraid. I haven't fought this kind of beast before, though. I imagine they aren't easy to kill."

"No. They aren't." Nathaniel's face was sober now. "Come on. Walk with me a bit and I will tell you what to watch out for if we should indeed come face to face with a broodmother."

 

 

* * *

The further down they followed the tunnels, the more obvious it became that they were headed toward a larger accumulation of darkspawn. At first they only met small scouting groups of genlocks, easy to dispatch, but when the first emissaries showed up, Velanna threw Nathaniel a glance that spelled _I told you so_ loud and clear. Yet the archer showed no sign of changing his mind, continuing on with a look of single-minded determination.

As the tunnels got darker and the air more oppressive, Thorin turned to Carver, who had kept out of the discussion so far. "What do you think? Is Nathaniel leading us into danger?"

Carver snorted, kicking a small boulder out of the way. "Of course he is. That's what being a Warden is all about, isn't it?" His eyes rested for a moment on Nathaniel's broad back. "Still, Nate knows how much we can handle and he takes his responsibilities seriously. He won't take any unnecessary risks just to impress the elf, don't worry."

Thorin was about to answer when Nathaniel gave a warning shout. More darkspawn attacked them, several hardy genlock alphas and even a few hurlocks among them. Thorin managed to save Carver from certain death by neatly beheading a genlock rogue with his axe as it was about to sink its daggers into the small of the younger man’s back. Even in the heat of the fight, this earned him a grateful smile from Nathaniel.

As they stood victorious once more, the archer laughed giddily, his head thrown back in abandonment, his blood-spattered daggers raised up high. Thorin couldn't blame him. He himself felt the battle lust rise within him as he hadn't in a very long time. This, at last, was a fight worthy of his abilities! They pressed on, eager for more blood, for another chance to prove their mettle against the vile creatures of the dark.

Thorin couldn't have said how many hours had passed, how many more foes they had slain, when the passageway finally widened before them. A curious substance coated the floor, smelly and slimy, and with the unmistakable evil feel of the darkspawn taint.

"Creators! The broodmother must be close!" Velanna had turned pale.

Gesturing for her to stay close to him, Nathaniel grabbed his bow and carefully rounded the next corner. Carver followed, his sword raised, and Thorin brought up the rear, afraid of what he knew was coming.

It was worse than he had imagined. A lot worse. The stench, for one thing. And the giant, griping tentacles, snaking up from the slimy mass on the floor, moving in a ghastly parody of a dance. But the most horrible sight was the face, the distorted grimace staring at him from above layers of sickly pale flesh, because somewhere behind those deformed features he could still divine a shadow of the features of a dwarven woman. A woman who had been forced to undergo this transformation, infected by the taint, fed the flesh of her companions, forced to birth legions of genlocks. It made him want to throw up.

But there was no time, for even as he readied his axe, a shrill, haunting scream sounded from the side walls of the cavern, stunning him into immobility. It was all he could do to defend himself when the grinning, evil spectre of a shriek rose right in front of him, lifting a clawed talon to strike at him. Carver was at his side, though, and together they managed to fend off the first wave of attackers.

Nathaniel shouted commands, positioning the companions in different spots all around the cave. Thorin knew he and Carver had to get up close, while the archer and the mage would do what damage they could from a distance. Recalling Nathaniel's earlier warnings, he took care to keep his feet on the more solid patches of ground, avoiding the pools of slime whence the broodmother's tentacles could emerge any moment. Even so, he was nearly swept off his feet by one of the monstrous arms before it collapsed, hacked neatly into two halves by Carver's huge blade.

He managed to get close enough to the giant rump to get in a few well-placed strikes, but had to jump back quickly, when the creature turned to face him. With a squelching noise, it emptied the stinking contents of its belly right in the place where he had been standing only moments before. Thorin felt his own stomach lurch and heave in response. Behind him, Carver cried out in pain as a drop of venomous spit hit his bracer, burning right through the metal and searing his skin. Velanna must have heard it too, because the familiar glow of a minor healing spell lit up around the young man's arm, soothing his pain.

More genlocks appeared, swarming out from behind the lair, and the fighting continued. As Thorin swung his axe, taking advantage of every lull in darkspawn attacks to injure the broodmother a little further, he lost track of how long their struggle lasted. Their opponent's shapeless torso was covered in arrows, most of them still smouldering faintly. The churned-up ground bore witness to the power of Velanna's magical attacks, enormous thorny roots that had left gaping wounds in their foe's extremities. Velanna might not be much of a healer, but she could certainly inflict damage.

Thorin was beginning to think they were close to winning, when he heard a stifled cry from Nathaniel's position. He turned toward the sound, and held his breath. The archer had ventured too close to the front and a tentacle had grabbed him around the chest, lifting him up, shaking him from side to side and squeezing him like a ripe fruit. Carver was screaming incoherently, hacking at the arm with his greatsword until the thing finally loosened its grip, and Nathaniel's body fell hard to the ground. As he lay there, still and unmoving, the broodmother raised herself as high as she could, seeming to shake with laughter.

Looking at the pale, frightened faces of his remaining two companions, Thorin was gripped by a fierce surge of determination. Acting purely on instinct, he barked commands at those who were still standing, while he himself advanced steadily toward the beast, his axe raised high. The ground trembled as Velanna focussed her magic once again. Carver's face was white like a sheet and he charged without any regard for his own safety.

The broodmother grew increasingly frantic, spitting and puffing at them, its teeth bared in a last desperate effort, but it was in vain. With an almost jubilant cry, Carver ran his sword deep into its belly, slicing it open from one side to the other, spilling guts and blood and slime all over the floor. The creature gave a final, strangled cry and collapsed. The remaining darkspawn summoned by the broodmother's power ran for their lives, frightened by her sudden demise. The cave grew deadly quiet. It was over. They had won.

Thorin sank back against a boulder, breathing heavily, trying to get his strength back, when Velanna approached him, her eyes sparkling with anger. "You. Dwarf. Why did you presume to take command? I am the senior warden after Nathaniel. _I_ should have led you all into battle, not some raw recruit."

Red rage rose within him, almost blinding him. All the hatred he had ever felt towards her race boiled up again, all the slights he had suffered at the hands of Thranduil and his wood elves came back in a flash. Velanna's haughty features, her long, blond hair and her cool green eyes grew blurry and for a moment he actually _saw_ the King of Mirkwood in her place, heard the cultivated voice questioning him and sentencing him to imprisonment. His hands itched to grab her thin body and shake her, make her take back her words and beg his forgiveness.

Breath by shaking breath, he fought to subdue his anger, clenching his hands into fists so tightly that the skin tightened above his knuckles. This wasn't Thranduil, and the old quarrels were no longer important. This was Velanna, and much as her manner grated on his nerves, she was his fellow warden, his sister, and Sigrun's good friend, and he had no reason to hate her.

Yet he couldn't, wouldn't take her insults quietly. "I would have gladly left command to you, _my lady_ , had you taken it! But surely even you can see-"

"Thorin! Velanna!" Carver's pained voice cut him off. The young warden knelt next to Nathaniel, cradling the archer's head in his lap. "This is not the time for your quarrels. He's dying!" Tears ran down his cheeks.

Velanna grew pale. Without another look at Thorin, she rushed to join Carver. Thorin followed her slowly. Nathaniel's face was deathly pale, and a thin line of blood trailed down from the corner of his mouth. The tentacle must have broken several ribs and crushed his lungs. In Thorin's experience, an injury like this was almost certainly bound to be fatal, but he had come to understand that the magical healing powers of this world were far beyond anything he had ever known.

Hopefully he glanced at Velanna. "Can you help him?"

But to his dismay, the elven mage shook her head. "This is beyond my skill. I can heal part of this, make him hold on a little longer, but he needs more care than I can give." Her hands ran feverishly along Nathaniel's chest, glowing blue, but it was obvious she was exhausted and out of her depth.

"Blight it, Velanna, you have to save him!" Carver's eyes were wild. "I knew you were useless! We should have taken Anders. We should never have come here. I-" He broke off with a sob, hiding his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with despair.

Velanna got up stiffly, her face unreadable. "I did what I could. Take him back to the Keep." Without a backward glance, she disappeared into a tunnel, not bothering to explain where she was going.

Thorin watched her go, unable to hide his consternation. "Velanna. Velanna!"

But she was already gone. With a sigh, he put a hand on Carver's shoulder. "Come on. Let's head home."

 


	3. The Best Choice

**Chapter 3 - The Best Choice**

Thorin finished filling his water skin and headed back toward their makeshift camp, eyeing the clouded sky with a worried frown. He sent a silent prayer to Aulë, creator of the dwarves, to intercede with the Lord of the Skies and ask him to keep away the rains for a little longer. If the roads became muddy, they would lose what slim chance they had of being back in time to save Nathaniel's life.

While he'd been gone, Carver had built a good fire, taking care to place Nathaniel's stretcher close enough for warmth. The archer had hardly opened his eyes in the two days since they had left the broodmother's lair. Most of the time he was unconscious, awakening only occasionally to accept some water, which he swallowed with a pained grimace. He looked gaunt and hollow, with deep, violet shadows under his eyes, his cheeks sunken and his lips chapped and dry. Thorin sighed. _If it wasn't for his Warden constitution, he'd be dead already._

"We should press on." Carver spoke abruptly, his face sullen, his eyes dark with despair. "Every minute we waste sitting here-"

"It's no use trying to find our way in the dark with a stretcher." Thorin made an effort to sound gentle.

Carver had reined in his initial almost hysterical reaction to Nathaniel's injury, but he had hardly said a word during their journey, his fists tight around the grips of the stretcher, his face shuttered and grim. _He's still very young,_ Thorin reminded himself. But then, no matter how old he got himself, he would never get used to losing friends, family, people he loved. For a moment the pain flamed up again in his chest as the images returned: Fili, run through by a goblin's sword, Kili's head smashed by a mace, both of his beloved nephews dead before their time, because they had tried to save him.

Nathaniel moaned feebly, tossing his head from one side to the other. Thorin reached inside his pack for the last of the healing potions they had brought. They had fed them all to Nathaniel, drop by drop, hoping and praying they would have some sort of effect. At least they seemed to alleviate his pain a little.

He was about to suggest they put up a tent for the night when a rustling noise at the edge of the trees made him start. Yet as he reached for his weapon, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Thorin. Carver. Hold back. It's me, Anders." And indeed the tall silhouette of the mage in his pauldroned robes was unmistakable.

"Anders?" The surge of hope in Carver's voice made Thorin wince in sympathy. "Oh please, you have to help him."

"Shhh, I'll handle it, don't you worry." Anders' breezy smile quickly turned into a frown at the sight of Nathaniel's prone body. "Maker, Nate! Don't you dare..." He sank to his knees, his hands already lighting up with a healing aura. "Right, Carver, please hold him for me. And help me take off his armour, yes, just like that. Thorin, get me some fresh water, will you?"

He didn't even turn his head as he spoke, but Thorin didn't hesitate. When he returned with a bowl of water moments later, they had removed Nathaniel's chest piece and shirt, baring his bruised and battered torso to the cool evening air. Anders cursed under his breath, but set to healing him immediately. It was a lengthy and strenuous process, and the mage's face turned pale, tiny droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead. Twice Nathaniel arched up from the stretcher, crying out in pain, and at one point Anders had to pause to down a lyrium potion.

Finally he sat back, washing his hands in the water bowl and glancing affectionately down at his patient who looked a lot less pale and drained. "That's it. He's no longer in immediate danger. It was a close call, though."

Carver bit back a sob, and Thorin nodded, looking at the mage in awe. "It's a good thing you came to meet us. But tell me, how did you get here so fast? There's no way-"

"Oh, there are a number of ways, believe me." Anders smiled a tired smile. "Velanna arrived at the Keep a few hours ago. She was pretty frantic, insisted it was urgent, so I took a shortcut through the Fade." Seeing the stunned expressions on their faces, he shook his head. "Look, this is not something I do on a daily basis. I couldn't have done it without Velanna's help, nor without an existing bond..." Looking down at Nathaniel's pale, silent face, the mage swallowed hard.

Thorin averted his gaze, aware of what remained unsaid and why. Anders rose with a sigh, his hand resting briefly on Carver's back. "I need to rest a while, and then do some more healing before he's fit to travel. You should get some sleep too."

* * *

Sigrun kept telling herself that she was not the type of girl to sit around pining for her absent lover, worrying about his fate. She had enough tasks to keep her occupied until the patrol returned, and they wouldn't be here any earlier if she spent all her time gazing wistfully out of the window, wishing they were here.

Still, she found she couldn't quite focus on whetting her dagger or sorting her collection of poisons. If she could at least talk to Velanna, learn more about what had befallen them down in the Deep Roads. But the elven mage had withdrawn to her room to rest, utterly exhausted by her wild rush to get back to the Keep, and drained from the complicated spell that had sent Anders off on his rescue mission.

 _Probably drained in the literal sense of the word._ Sigrun knew Velanna had dabbled in blood magic, and she had never heard of a spell that powerful being achieved by normal means. Yet Megan hadn't batted an eyelash when Anders had suggested it. If it was the only way to save Nathaniel...

Not that she blamed the Commander. If it had been Thorin's life in the balance, she would have done the same. Sigrun was no romantic and didn't believe in fanciful professions of undying love, but at the same time she didn't give her heart away easily. And if she did, she meant it.

There was a commotion down in the hall, and before she knew it, she was on her feet, rushing down the stairs. Yes. They were back.

Megan was kneeling on the floor, next to Nathaniel's stretcher, joy and concern warring on her face. "Will he be alright, Anders? No lasting damage?"

"Of course he will." Anders' face bore a curious mixture of pride and longing as he looked at them. "You know I've got the touch."

Sigrun spared a glance for Nathaniel, relieved to see a smile on his face, but at the same time she couldn't help looking out for the one she really wanted to see. And when he appeared in the doorway, tired and blood-spattered, his face lighting up at the sight of her, she forgot all her earlier qualms and threw herself straight into his arms.

"Thorin!" There was so much more she wanted to say, but when his strong arms closed around her, gathering her tight to his chest, and she heard the low rumble of his laughter, she forgot about everything else. She glanced up at him, unable to stop the happy grin spreading across her face. "Come to bed," she mouthed silently at him.

He laughed again, setting her back down on the ground without letting go of her. "Commander? Do I have your leave to clean up and rest?"

Megan barely looked up as she nodded, and they set off without further delay. At the door to the baths, he kissed her, quick and hard, then let go of her with a regretful sigh. "Wait for me in your room, love. I'll be quick."

She smiled up at him. "And once you're finished..."

He gave her a decidedly more predatory look in return. "Once I'm finished I expect a proper welcome home."

Sigrun didn't have to wait for long. Before she even had time to undress, there was a knock on her door, and then he entered. He hadn't bothered with getting dressed again and wore nothing but a towel around his waist. His long hair flowed in damp curls down his back, smoothed back from his forehead. She couldn't suppress a happy sigh at the sight of him, and from his smug expression she knew he had heard it. But by the Stone, how she had missed his body, the hard planes of his chest, covered in a fine sheen of dark hair, the tattoos emphasizing the taut muscles of his upper arms, his toned stomach.

"Well?" Thorin was obviously way past the point where he wanted to waste time on banter. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, moulding her body close to his, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. The room seemed suddenly far too warm, and she scrambled to undo the buttons on her tunic while she raised her lips to his, begging silently for his kiss. He didn't need to be asked twice. His mouth was hard and demanding on hers, his hand on the back of her head holding her firmly and decisively.

"Sigrun." As he let go of her lips, a shudder ran through his whole body. "Tell me you're mine."

"All yours." She smiled to herself as she indulged his whim.

Thorin had turned out to be far more possessive than she had expected. Yet, she didn't mind, even though it was unusual for Wardens to be so exclusive in their affections. And her past in Dust Town certainly hadn't predisposed her to be faithful to one man only. But Thorin...  As she felt him hard against her stomach, his hot, calloused hands sliding up under her tunic, she couldn't imagine why she should ever want another man again. No other man could make her feel like that, burning hot with desire for him, his body, his lips, his touch. No other man could ever satisfy the urgent craving building up in her body, the need to be _filled_ , to be completed, to be made whole by him. No other-

There was another knock on the door, hard and businesslike, followed by the crisp voice of Captain Garevel, who commanded the Keep's Guard. "Wardens. The Commander asks you to come into her office. She has urgent matters to discuss with you."

Sigrun could have killed the man. And the Commander, while she was at it. What on Thedas had possessed Megan to summon them now? Thorin's exasperated groan told her he felt much the same. Reluctantly, they let go of each other, not bothering to hide their frustration.

"This is not over." Thorin's eyes were stormy as he grabbed a few pieces of clothing from the chest he kept in her room. "I have a few _urgent_ matters of my own to attend to later."

* * *

When they arrived in Megan's quarters, they found her seated at Nathaniel's side, perched on the armrest of the comfortable chair he was reclining in. He looked weak but much improved, and he greeted them with a warm, genuine smile.

"Thorin. And Sigrun." Megan jumped to her feet to greet them, then paused, regarding their grim faces in genuine confusion until understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh Maker. I'm sorry, both of you. I didn't think-"

Nathaniel chuckled quietly. "Just because I am out of action, Meg, doesn't mean others feel the same."

The Commander actually blushed. "Please forgive me. I... I only wanted to thank you, Thorin. Carver and Nathaniel told me about the battle, and how you saved them all with your resolute action. I am eternally grateful to you." Her face was more earnest than he had ever seen it.

"I did my duty, Commander, nothing more." He felt flustered by her praise.

Megan smiled. "That's one way of looking at it. However..." She walked over to her desk and picked up a letter. "There's one other thing I need to talk to you about. This is a message from King Bhelen Aeducan, the dwarven king of Orzammar."

Sigrun and Oghren had explained the workings of the dwarven government to Thorin and he knew Bhelen owed his throne in no small measure to Megan's timely intervention, given in return for his support during the Blight.

"Bhelen has sent me a formal request, asking the Wardens of Ferelden to send an official ambassador to Orzammar. Which is a splendid idea, no doubt." Megan made a face. "But who can I send?" She sighed. "Nate could do it. He has the training and the presence to stand up to King Bhelen and his nobles, and they would respect his name, but I need him here."

Thorin nodded. It was more than obvious how close she and the archer had become lately and how hard put the Commander would be to let him go.

Megan sighed and ran a hand through her unruly mop of hair, tousling it further. "Besides, whoever goes will have to stay underground for months, maybe years. Only a dwarf can handle that, and I can hardly ask Oghren."

Thorin bit back a smirk. He couldn't recall ever seeing Oghren sober enough to keep up a civil conversation. Imagining him in a diplomatic setting was... disquieting, to say the least _._ "So you would send Sigrun?" Not that he wanted her to leave.

"They would never accept her." Megan glanced apologetically at Sigrun, who shrugged, not seeming particularly offended. "One glance will tell them she's a duster, hardly worthy of their notice at the best of times. Besides, she joined the Legion of the Dead when she left Orzammar. As far as the dwarves there are concerned, she's dead and it's bad manners for her to still be breathing. No, Thorin. I think _you_ are by far the best choice."


	4. Too Much

**Chapter 4 - Too Much**

Thorin inhaled sharply, utterly taken by surprise by Megan's suggestion. "Me? An ambassador? With all due respect, Commander, I'm hardly a diplomat. And I'm still new to this world. I don't know the first thing about Orzammar and its politics."

"I won't send you there alone." The Commander's face was determined. "Sigrun will come along, in an... unofficial capacity, and she will be able to help you. But you know, I think you will make a splendid ambassador, all regal and dignified. We'll just have to make up a plausible history for you. We can hardly tell King Bhelen you are from another world."

Sigrun who had been quiet so far, snorted. "No, that wouldn't go down so well. But..." Her eyes had taken on a mischievous gleam. "We could introduce him by his first name only, or better yet as _Thorin Oakenshield_." She grinned at him over her shoulder and Thorin just barely managed not to roll his eyes. When he'd first told her about the epithet he'd earned for himself, Sigrun had been singularly unimpressed. Or to be exact, she had thought it was hilarious. _Oakenshield, eh? Well I can think of a few other things about you that grow as strong and tall as an oak tree._ He had laughed; how could he not? But her levity had definitely rankled his pride.

Megan motioned for Sigrun to go on, and she grinned even more widely. "Once we've arrived, I could easily drop some hints that he is really from a noble family, high-born enough to be kings or princes, but exiled several generations ago. I'm sure Thorin will have no trouble playing the part. No one will doubt he's a noble. Normal people just don't behave like that."

Thorin shook his head. "But wouldn't a family as aristocratic as this be recorded in the archives of the Shaperate? How do we explain that there are no records of them?"

Sigrun grinned. "It depends. We could always say they were so ashamed of having ended up on the surface that they gave up their family name and had all mention of their disgrace struck from the Memories. It wouldn't be the first instance of a Shaper omitting records that are embarrassing to a noble family. I remember carrying bribes for just that purpose back when I was still with the Carta."

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "Yes, that should work. That's pretty much the way they think."

Thorin frowned. "Why would anyone be ashamed of living on the surface?" He much preferred to be underground, true, but in his experience, dealing with the world of elves and humans was a simple necessity, if only to trade for food and other surface goods.

Sigrun smiled affectionately at him. "Why indeed. My people are a bit funny that way. They don't take kindly to dwarves choosing to live topside, call them _sun-touched_ , or _cloudgazers_ , or worse. Surfacers rank just barely above the casteless."

He shook his head. "But that is stupid. Dwarves should stick together. Didn't you say there are fewer of them every year? Why would there be division among them?"

Sigrun made a quick, obscene gesture. "Because, to quote Oghren, the noble caste has a stick up its collective butt. Snooty nug-lickers!Excuse my Orlesian, Commander." She didn't look particularly repentant, though.

Thorin was quiet, still mulling on what she had told him. He couldn't imagine the dwarves of his world being so at odds with each other. But then he remembered what his father had taught him as a boy, about the Petty-dwarves of Beleriand. Exiles too, and hardly more than animals in the eyes of the elves and humans, despised by their own people. Of course that was ancient history, but still...

He tore himself from his musings to face Megan again. "Commander, I need to know more about this mission. Assuming I accept this task. I still feel it's too much, too soon."

Nathaniel shook his head impatiently. "I've seen what you can do. You are more than just a capable warrior, you're a leader. Your talents are wasted on simple Warden duties."

Megan nodded. "I need you to do this. It's important. And of course you will know more. But there's not much time. You need to leave soon, before the snows set in and the mountains become impassable." Her face softened as she looked both of them over. "Get off to bed now, you two. But I will need your answer tomorrow."

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind them, Thorin's eyes caught hers, and Sigrun had to bite back a moan. Intriguing as Megan's proposal had been, it was obvious there were other things on his mind right now.

"Your room. Now." Ancestors, he was using _that_ tone of voice again.

It was only thanks, no doubt, to his superior capacity for self-discipline that they made it back to her room before their clothes came off. Sigrun was pretty certain that she wouldn't have objected to him taking her right there, against the wall outside Megan's office. But he held out, his tight grip around her wrist the only indication of his fraying control.

There was no holding back once they were in her room, though. Pulling her hard towards him, he took hold of her head and kissed her with a greed that made her gasp, claiming her mouth so thoroughly that she didn't even notice them crossing the room over to her bed. Pausing for air, he gave her a gentle shove so she tumbled back onto the coverlet.

"Take off your clothes." His eyes never left hers as he tore off his own shirt and pants, and she hurried to follow his command, revelling in the sight of him.

Oh, but he was magnificent! Hard and strong and muscular, his shoulders wide and his stomach flat and toned, his hair and beard thick and luscious, everything a man should be. There was no need for him to touch her to send sparks of lust down to her core, just watching him was enough, watching him and hearing the deep growl of his voice as he told her how he wanted her.

And then he was above her, lips and tongue on her nipples, hands parting her legs and she was soaked for him already, yearning to have him inside her, ready to beg for him. But there would be no begging, no teasing, not tonight when he had waited so long to make her his again. Without hesitation, he opened her up, spread her wide and entered her in a single, blunt stroke. She screamed against his shoulder in pleasure, her nails raking down his broad back, scrambling for purchase.

"Sigrun, I-" He didn't have to tell her he was hanging by a thread. She could feel it, feel the pulsing of him inside her, feel the tension in his whole body, just about ready to burst, but she needed him a little longer, just a tiny bit. Sigrun was so close herself already, her body clenching around him in anticipation. All she needed was a few more thrusts, a little friction... But it was too much. As soon as he moved, he lost all semblance of control, his hips snapping hard against her, faster, jerkier, and she held on, clinging to him, so close, just a little more-

When he collapsed above her with a deep, throaty groan, leaving her just on the edge of ecstasy, she grabbed his shoulders hard and pushed him down, asking him wordlessly to complete what he had started. Thorin chuckled softly, but he complied, his tongue painting lazy circles on her aching flesh, making her mewl with pleasure, then moving deeper to thrust insistently inside her. Sigrun arched up high under his caresses, her body taut as a bowstring, and it felt so good, so perfect, it was _almost_ too much. Just then he turned his head and his beard scraped against her, and it _was_ too much. She cried out in pain and shoved him back hard. Thorin sat back with a resigned huff, his gaze dark and hungry on her.

"I'm sorry, love, it's just..." She wiggled in frustration. "Too much, too good, I can't..."

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "Oh yes, you can." He slithered back down so his face was level with her sex again, but instead of caressing her again, he reached for her hand and brought it down between her legs. "Touch yourself." She knew that tone, knew he would accept no contradiction. "Go on."

Sigrun felt a blush rise from her chest to her face. She should have known he wouldn't forget her teasing, back before he had left. It had been fun to tickle his imagination then, but she found that actually going through with this, here under his watchful eye, was something else altogether. Yet here he was, daring her to make good on her taunts, and she had never backed down from a challenge before.

Squeezing her eyes firmly shut, she began moving her hand, smiling to herself when his breath hitched at the sight. Soon she found a rhythm, carefully avoiding overstimulated spots, her fingers light and deft, her pleasure building up again, and this time she knew there would be no going back.

Thorin made no move to touch her, though she sensed that his avid gaze never left her. She could hear his breath coming in quick, hard gasps, and feel him grow hard again against her thigh. _Shit, Commander, you had no idea what you were doing when you made him a Warden, did you_? It was one of her last clear thoughts before everything was heat and urgency and stars bursting behind her eyes as she shuddered in his arms, completely overcome.

He didn't wait for her to recover, just flipped her over and thrust inside her again from behind. His hands were rough and firm on her hips and he was thick and hard, and Ancestors, she was still coming, or maybe again, and again, and it just wouldn't end! She was drifting on a cloud, every cell in her body screaming with pleasure, every pore of her skin tingling with lust. Sigrun couldn't have said whether she was crying or laughing or maybe whimpering with lust, all she knew was how good it was, how incredibly, mind-blowingly, overwhelmingly good.

When he finally let go of her, spent and sated, she shivered all over, no strength left in her body, and was grateful for his strong arms around her.

“That was . . . amazing,” she murmured, and she felt his arms tighten around her, his warmth anchoring her and keeping her safe as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was late when Nathaniel finally fell into a fitful sleep. Megan knew he still was in a lot of pain, even if he refused to admit it. Her throat tightened as she looked down on his sleeping face, so familiar and yet still so mysterious to her in many ways. She had wanted him for as long as she could remember, but she would never have imagined they would end up together like this, the Commander of the Grey and her trusted lieutenant, both of them doomed to give their lives to save the world from the darkspawn taint. The taint they carried inside them, the taint that would kill them both. _Not quite yet, though._ She shook herself, trying to get rid of the dark thoughts.

Carver stirred in his sleep on the bunk bed he had insisted they put up for him next to the big four-poster. He hadn't wanted to disturb Nathaniel's rest, yet his need to be close to them was almost tangible. His face was relaxed, the sullen frown gone for now, and he looked very young, very vulnerable. _Carver_. Megan gently pulled the blanket over his bare shoulder. Another development she hadn't anticipated when he'd arrived here and she had taken him into her bed. She'd been prepared for a short fling, a few passionate nights before he moved on to another love, nothing more. And even now she wasn't sure where this was going.

The more stolid members of Ferelden's nobility would no doubt have been scandalized, had they known what the last surviving members of the Cousland and Howe families were up to, but Megan cared little about conventions. She had never fancied the destiny awaiting her as a gentlewoman, never wanted to be a breeding mare or a pawn in her father's political games. Perhaps being a Warden, even with all its challenges and hardships, was preferable to the life she would have had if the Blight had not happened. Either way, she would apologize to no one for taking pleasure – and love – where she could find it.  

Megan yawned and stretched languidly before curling up in the armchair next to the bed. Being a Warden might be a hard calling, taxing even her eternal optimism at times, but right now, in the company of her two lovers, listening to their deep breaths and occasional snores, there was no place she'd rather be.

* * *

Thorin woke to find Sigrun already awake and playing lazily with a curl of his hair, her expression pensive. He ran his hand over the generous curve of her hips, letting it rest on her bottom, pulling her closer toward him. They had spent most nights together since he'd come here, yet he couldn't get enough of her body, so trim and taut, such a perfect fit for his hands.

She blinked up at him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. "So... An ambassador, yeah? Should I call you 'Your Lordship' now? Or whatever it is you ought to be called?"

"'Your Excellency', I believe. And anyway, I haven't agreed to Megan's plan yet," he reminded her, tracing the lines of the tattoo on her cheek with his finger.

Sigrun snorted. "You're not going to say no, are you?" When he didn't answer straight away, she boxed him hard in the ribs, making him flinch. "Come on. Enough with the false modesty. You know very well how impressive you are." She grinned at his frown. "Especially when you look all angry and growly, like you do now."

"Well, you don't seem very impressed." He tried to sound grumpy, but failed. It was simply impossible to stay mad at her for long. "Modesty has nothing to do with it. It's just..."

"You don't like being in a situation where you have to rely on others." Her observation was uncomfortably close to the truth, and he was momentarily at a loss for words.

Sigrun rolled over on her stomach and looked at him, her piercing blue eyes fixed on him relentlessly. "It's not a problem. You can trust me to be there, to help you with anything you can't handle by yourself. We can do this together. I'm your fellow Warden, not just your lover. I'll be at your side, no matter what."

Thorin almost smiled at the earnest conviction of her tone. "I still don't like the idea of being out of my depth."

He pulled her up so she came to lie on top of him, propped up on her elbows on his massive chest. She looked almost fragile compared to him, but he knew how deceptive her appearance was. Sigrun was tough and resilient, more so than many a warrior he had known.

"I trust you, love. If I have to place my fate in anyone's hands, I much prefer yours to anybody else's. I love you." His voice almost failed him for a moment. "I will tell Megan we can leave as soon as our things are packed."


	5. Battles of the Past

**Chapter 5 - Battles of the Past**

"Look. This is the North Road." Megan pointed out a thin, pale line on the map she had spread out on her desk. "You can follow it for the better part of your journey, until you reach Lake Calenhad. Better stick to the road, the Coastlands can be swampy at this time of the year. Then you have a piece of the old Imperial Highway along the western lakeshore, which will take you right to the foot of the Frostback Mountains. A short way up Gherlen's Pass, you will find the entrance to Orzammar." She straightened, wincing when she stretched her back. "It will take you at least two weeks to get there, maybe three."

Thorin nodded. "The route seems straightforward enough. And Sigrun has travelled this way before, haven't you, love?"

"Actually, not so much." Sigrun made a face. "I left Orzammar by way of the Deep Roads. Before I met Megan, I never even got close to the surface. But I'm sure we'll be much safer above ground, with no darkspawn to worry about."

Megan smiled. "You'll be fine. There's someone else who will be travelling with you, and they know their way."

At her gesture, Nathaniel opened the door to admit two more dwarves. Thorin greeted them with a friendly nod. He had nothing but admiration for the handiwork of Master Voldrik, the stonemason in charge of the Keep's defences. His brother Dworkin "the Mad", a weaponsmith specializing in bombs and grenades, didn't inspire quite as much confidence, yet he was undoubtedly a master of his craft as well.

"Well, I never thought I'd set sight on Orzammar again," Voldrik grumbled. "But the Shaperate needs to know about this." With deft movements he unwrapped the large stone tablet he was carrying. It was carefully crafted and inscribed with what seemed to be a list of names.

"What is this?" Thorin's curiosity was piqued at this renewed mention of the Shaperate.

He had heard a lot about this dwarven institution, dedicated to preserving memories and recording important events. Sigrun and Oghren had told him that the Shapers were highly regarded in Orzammar and he was inclined to share this respect. Preserving heroic deeds and near-forgotten lore for future generations, making sure they wouldn't be forgotten - that was a worthy task, even if Sigrun's earlier remarks had shaken his confidence in their integrity a little.

To his surprise, it was Nathaniel who answered. "We found this marker in the Deep Roads, in what is left of the Trade Quarter in Kal'Hirol. In the normal course of events, we probably wouldn't have thought much of it, but we had found this journal earlier on." He handed Thorin a bundle of crackling sheets of paper, covered in a small, spidery script.

"This was written by a dwarven warrior called Dailan." Megan's face was unusually sombre. "It tells the story of the last days of Kal'Hirol, before the thaig was overrun by darkspawn."

Thorin opened a page at random and quickly scanned it. _The darkspawn are almost at the gates of Kal'Hirol. The fortress must be evacuated._.. _Scouts have sighted the horde. It is vast._ Thorin nodded to himself. He knew what it meant to have to give up your home, to be faced with an all-powerful adversary. Shuddering, he turned another page. _I have volunteered to remain behind with a contingent of men. We'll hold off the darkspawn so others can escape._ "The man who wrote this... he was a hero."

Nathaniel nodded. "And his name will be recorded as such. But the most important part is here." He pointed to a small red ribbon inserted between the pages. "Read it aloud. It bears repeating."

Thorin opened the book at the marked passage. "The darkspawn have pushed us back to the inner keep. Only a handful of us survive, but we've held them back five days. We've held them back five days. We could not have done this without the casteless - no, not casteless. To call them _casteless_ would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten."

"And it won't." Master Voldrik's face was determined. "We are going to take this to Orzammar and the Shapers will record it. My brother and I can show you the way, Wardens. We are experienced travellers and have spent almost all our lives on the surface."

"I shall be honoured to have you at my side." Thorin nodded gravely. "When can we leave?"

"Mistress Woolsey is overseeing the packing right now,” Megan replied. “You should be good to go in two days."

 

* * *

The door closed behind the dwarves and Megan leant back against her desk with a wan smile, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"What's the matter? Tired?" Nathaniel pulled her into a gentle embrace, kissing the top of her head. "You need to get some rest."

She huddled closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. _So good to be finally able to touch him again._ She'd tried her best to hide it, but she had been worried sick about him. Part of her knew it was risky to rely on him so much, making herself vulnerable to loss and grief, but she couldn't help it. Even a Commander needed someone to bear the load with her.

"Is this a mistake, Nate?" When he made a questioning noise, she elaborated. "Am I putting too much trust in Thorin? We've only known him for a few months. What if-"

"Shhh." Nathaniel pushed her back a little so he could look into her eyes. "Thorin is trustworthy, I'm sure of that. They'll be fine." Planting a kiss on the tip of her nose, he chuckled softly. "Honestly, now you start worrying! Shouldn't you have considered that before you asked him?"

"Yeah, yeah." She shot him a dark look. "Because you've never made an impulsive decision in your life."

"Well, I do tend to think before I act, unlike some people I know- Ouch!" He gripped his chest dramatically, as if her hard little fist had mortally wounded him. "Is that any way to treat a recovering invalid?"

Megan's eyes narrowed. "You, my dear, are obviously back to form. I wonder..." A vicious little smile played around her lips as she let her hand graze up his body, then along his throat until she reached his jaw line, her caress light as a feather.

Nathaniel swallowed hard, his hand tightening in her hair, and bent her back a little, so that he loomed over her even more than usual. "What?" His voice had taken on that gravelly quality that never failed to have an effect on her.

"I wonder if you are up for more... vigorous activities again." Megan shivered when his lips trailed up her throat, hot and greedy. With a small twist of her body, she brought their hips together, moaning when she felt him against her. "It seems I've got my answer."

"Meg..." Nathaniel made a low noise at the back of his throat, almost a growl, and then he lifted her with his strong hands and placed her on the desk, stepping between her parted legs. Pulling her close again, he kissed her hard. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did, you blighted fool," Megan gasped against his mouth. "Never do this again, you hear me. What on Thedas possessed you to go up against a broodmother without-"

"Shut up." He silenced her with another scorching kiss. "You can lecture me all you want later, but now..." He pushed up her tunic, his hands shaking with need. "Now we have more important things to do."

 

* * *

"What I wouldn't give for a pony now!" Thorin sounded more grumpy than usual, and Sigrun was grateful for her hood that hid her smirk.

It was the evening of the sixth day since they had left Vigil's Keep, and so far their journey had been uneventful. Too uneventful for Thorin, apparently. It was obvious he was getting bored with their slow progress. He kept striding off on his long legs, too fast for her and the other two dwarves to keep up with him, then waited impatiently for them to catch up.

"Honestly, Thorin, it's not so bad." She tried to sound patient. "We have the mules to carry our stuff for us, and the road is in pretty good shape. I've been on far worse journeys. And so have you, I bet."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Sigrun sighed inwardly at the far-away look in his eyes. What other journey was he thinking of, back in the world he had left behind? She still knew so little about his past. He was quite a bit older than she was, that much she was certain of, although for all she knew they measured time differently where he came from. Yet the streaks of grey in his hair and beard told their own story, even if they served to make him look more distinguished.

She was glad they hadn't been bothered by attackers so far. It seemed that Megan's rigorous prosecution of the bandits who had terrorized the roads of the arldom had finally paid off. They hadn't encountered any darkspawn either, and that was the best news they'd had in years. With the Architect and the Mother gone, it seemed the vile creatures had finally withdrawn into the deep again.

Thorin knew all that, and yet he was restless and seemed to be itching for a fight. _Well, maybe there's another reason for his restlessness._ Even though they had a tent to themselves, he had resisted all her advances so far, obviously uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else hearing the noises they made.

Sigrun took another look at his glum face and sighed. Giving up the attempt of cheering him up, she fell back to chat with Voldrik for a while. The stonemason greeted her with a fatherly smile. They had become friendly during the past few days. His brother busied himself mostly with the pack mules, frequently checking on the animals, but Voldrik was sociable enough, and it was true he knew the road well.

"Two more days, maybe three, until we reach West Hill." He dug in his pocket for his pipe. "Bann Franderel is a hospitable sort, or at least his servants are. We could spend a night or two at the fortress, dry out our gear, stock up on provisions. It's not too far out of our way, and it's a good place for a rest, almost halfway to Orzammar."

"Sounds good to me." She wondered whether he had come to his own conclusions regarding Thorin's grumpiness. The man had been around Wardens for quite some time now, after all, and knew about their big appetites. Still, no matter what his motives were, she was looking forward to their little break.

 

* * *

Following Voldrik's directions, they came upon the vast old fortress of West Hill three days later. Most of it was lying in ruins or used to store goods and provisions, but what remained was impressive enough. Huge, crumbling watchtowers overlooking the Waking Sea, seemingly endless walls and battlements, and a towering great hall, this last one freshly renovated and obviously in use.

They entered by way of the kitchen entrance, where they were greeted by a friendly old housekeeper. The Bann was at court in Denerim, but they much preferred the informal atmosphere of the servants' quarters anyway. After a sumptuous dinner of stew and freshly baked bread, they settled at the large oaken table with their mugs of ale and listened to the stories of the retired guard captain, a one-eyed veteran called Angus. He had spent his whole life at West Hill and knew more about the place than any of the noble lords that had come and gone.

"You want to be careful wandering around the place at night." The old man's hands were shaky and crippled with gout, but his eyes were bright and clear. "It's easy to get lost in the dark. Not even I could tell you where all the passages lead. And who knows what lurks down in the cellars and dungeons?"

"Gah, stop it, Angus." The housekeeper deftly nudged him in the ribs. "Save that for the children. Our guests are Grey Wardens." She nodded respectfully at Thorin and Sigrun. "They won't be scared by your tales of ghosts and ghouls."

"Laugh all you want, woman," Angus grumbled. "This place is old, and it's seen more than enough pain and suffering."

"Wasn't there a famous battle here, during the Rebellion?" Sigrun scuttled closer to Thorin on the bench, settling comfortably against his shoulder.

"Aye, there was. Got close to being the end of the Rebellion, too." Angus took a deep draught. "The Orlesians crushed Prince Maric's forces, and damn near killed him. Arl Rendorn Guerrin died in battle that night, Arl Eamon's father that was. Blighted Orlesians! Teyrn Loghain was right not to trust them when they offered their so-called help."

Thorin raised a questioning eyebrow at Sigrun who just shrugged. The history of Ferelden was still confusing to him, with all the talk of usurpers and rebellions, teyrns and arls. Nathaniel had done his best to explain things to him, and he knew Maric had gone on to become king, and a good king by all accounts. His bastard son Alistair now ruled the country, together with Loghain's daughter Anora. But beyond that...

They lingered for a while longer, caught up in Angus' anecdotes, but then headed towards their quarters. To Thorin's surprise, he and Sigrun had a room to themselves. The housekeeper left them alone with a quick wink in Sigrun's direction and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"I thought it would be nice to have a little privacy." She walked over to him, a huge grin on her face, and methodically began to loosen the buckles on his armour. "Since you seemed so unhappy with the lack of it in camp."

"Am I that easy to read?" He reached for her armour straps in turn.

"In some respects." Sigrun's grin widened even further as their clothes came off piece by piece. "Or maybe I just know the signs by now."

Thorin finished undressing and stretched out on the large, comfortable bed with a contented sigh, pulling her into his arms. "I'd love to explore those dungeons Angus mentioned," he muttered into her hair. "I'm sure there's all kinds of treasures to be found in a place like this."

"Would you now?" Sigrun ground her hips against his groin in a slow, steady motion, drawing a stifled gasp from him. "I have a far better plan for tonight."

His witty answer died on his lips when she kissed him, her mouth so sweet and soft on his. As their bodies once more began the familiar dance of love-making, the treasures and legends of the past quickly lost all appeal compared to the pleasures the present had to offer.


	6. Myths and Memories

**Chapter 6 - Myths and Memories**

Sigrun woke in the middle of the night, unsure of what had disturbed her, until her sharp ears picked up the faintest of sounds, from somewhere beneath their chamber. The unmistakable clinking of armour, the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, a muffled scream. She sat up straight, her heart beating wildly.

"What's the matter?" Thorin's hand was heavy on her thigh, warm and reassuring.

"Didn't you hear?" She strained her eyes to see something in the dark, anything, but it was pitch black.

"Hear what?" Thorin listened for a moment, then yawned and pulled her back down. "Must have been a dream." He stroked her hair with a gentle soothing motion. "Go back to sleep, _ghivashuh._ "

She almost smiled at the endearment. It was only in unguarded moments like this that he ever slipped into his own language. But there had been a noise, she was sure of it... She huddled up close to him, still listening, but it was all quiet. Soon enough, she fell asleep again.

* * *

They returned to the North Road, having restocked their supplies and mended what was broken. Sigrun remained tense and jumpy until they had left the Keep well behind, only relaxing when its towers had disappeared into the distance. Thorin smiled to himself. It wasn't like her to be scared by a few old stories, but he had kind of enjoyed having the upper hand for once.

It took them another two days to reach the shores of Lake Calenhad. Up here, at its northernmost tip, it didn't look like much, but Voldrik assured them that it was a stunning sight to behold further south, a vast expanse of water, glittering in the sunlight.

"The humans have a legend." The stonemason nodded sagely. "They say King Calenhad Theirin's chain mail was magically forged from the waters of this lake so he would be protected by the very lifeblood of the land of Ferelden."

Dworkin harrumphed contemptuously. "Ha! I would prefer good solid dwarven made steel myself. Who in their right mind would rely on mages?" He spat on the floor, making his opinion of magic users abundantly clear.

They could just about make out the silhouette of the Circle Tower, distant and lonely, its base wrapped in mist. When Voldrik pointed it out, Sigrun shivered. "Poor Anders. Imagine being locked up in a place like this all your life. No wonder he tried to escape again and again."

"Well, he's safe now, with the Commander." Thorin was still flabbergasted by the fact that the mages of Thedas, powerful as they were, allowed others to treat them like this. _Surely if they united against their jailers, it would only be a matter of time until they broke free._ It seemed a dangerous practice to him, locking so many of them in one place, allowing them so little freedom, stoking the fires of their frustration.

"Yeah. He's safe. As long as he stays with the Wardens." Sigrun's face carried a worried frown. "I don't know, Thorin. I had a nice long chat with him before we left, and he said he was considering making a run for the Free Marches. He-"

She broke off, but Thorin didn't urge her on. He knew just as well as she did what was bothering the mage. _Nathaniel_. Not that the archer hadn't been willing enough to flirt with Anders, even spend the occasional night with him. But Nathaniel's heart was clearly taken up elsewhere, and Anders was suffering, more than he usually let on.

"Well, let's hope-" He didn't get any further than that before the blight wolves attacked.

It was a medium-sized pack, six or seven huge shaggy beasts with mad eyes and gaping maws of teeth, the stink of darkspawn corruption unmistakable on their breath. The taint had progressed considerably already and they were visibly weakened, their cadaverous bodies twitching with pain and agitation as they surrounded their small caravan.

"Wargs!" Thorin muttered under his breath, his whole body tensing up as the memories caught up with him. _Azog, seated on a beast just like those, only bigger and more powerful, charging toward him. Huge fangs clenching around his waist, tearing at his flesh, excruciating pain..._

"Thorin!" Sigrun's sharp cry tore him out of his reverie, only moments before the pack leader attacked, hurling itself at him with single-minded focus.

He brought up his shield, bracing for impact. The creature emitted a high-pitched keen as its snout collided hard with the shield's reinforced upper edge, but it recovered immediately and charged again. This time he was ready, though, and the sharp blade of his axe sliced its belly open from throat to crotch, spilling blood and intestines all over the place. Thorin didn't wait for the beast to stop writhing before he focussed his attention on the next.

Sigrun was right next to him, her axe and dirk whirling as she dispatched her own opponent. Voldrik and Dworkin were holding their own quite nicely, swinging their large hammers with relish, but one of the mules went down with a plaintive braying as a wolf dug its teeth into its flanks. Thorin cursed and redoubled his efforts. Three wolves were down, then four. The remaining three circled them slowly, fangs bared and hackles raised.

"I hate wolves." He bared his teeth back at them, snarling at the next beast stepping out of line. The young wolf, barely grown, backed away with a whimper.

Sigrun grinned, her face blood-spattered but her courage undaunted. "Yet you seem to understand them well."

She reached back into her pack for a throwing knife. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on the wolves' movements as she carefully balanced it. Then her hand moved, too fast for Thorin to follow it, and the wolf collapsed soundlessly on the floor, the handle of her knife protruding between its eyes. The other two took one look at it and turned tail, rushing off toward the forest.

Thorin sank down on a boulder, exhaling slowly. There was an ugly, squelching noise as Dworkin put the poor mule out of its misery, grumbling about having to redistribute their packs among the remaining mounts.

Sigrun came over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You'll have to tell me more about your hatred of wolves."

He nodded tiredly. "Some other time. For now, let's burn the cadavers and get going."

They made camp early that night, exhausted from the day's adventures. When Sigrun crawled into the tent and stretched out next to him, Thorin pulled her close, grateful for her warmth. She ran her fingers tenderly along his bearded jaw, an unspoken question in her eyes. But he found he couldn't speak. Instead he tightened his grip on her and she understood him without the need for words.

Her nimble fingers danced along his body, down to his groin and closed around him, her grip firm and assured. He groaned into her hair, thrusting hard into her hand and she wiggled a little, until she had found the right angle. His hips seemed to move almost of their own accord, quick and jerky, eager for her touch. She didn't play with him, didn't even try to be subtle, just held him tight and warm, her lips light and gentle against his temple, until he shattered in her hand, his cry of release muffled by her kiss. He felt embarrassed afterward, like an awkward youth spilling his seed at the first touch of a woman, but she held him, muttering soft endearments, refusing to let him return the favour. Within moments, exhaustion overtook him, black and heavy and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

They progressed more slowly after the attack, their mules overburdened and more obstinate than usual, no matter how much Dworkin coaxed and cajoled them on. Even so it was only a few more days until they left the Imperial Highway and made their way up Gherlen's Pass.  They had barely even grazed the lower reaches of the Frostback Mountains, but the going got considerably tougher. The mountain air was fresh and brisk, though, and the prospect of arriving at their goal soon put an extra spring in their step.

It was early evening when they finally reached the surface entrance to the dwarven capital. Thorin looked up at the big gate straddling their path with mixed feelings. It was clearly built to impress, two massive stone pillars carrying a delicate wrought-iron framework, as fine an example of dwarven craft as he had ever seen. Yet the effect was rather spoilt by the ragged shanty-town that had sprung up behind it, a random accumulation of traders and travellers, waiting to be admitted through the large gate set into the face of the mountain.

It was a daunting sight, that giant pair of doors, made from solid steel, a sweeping flight of stairs leading up to them. There would be no waiting for them, though. The guard glanced only briefly at their credentials before he stepped back, motioning respectfully for them to step through.

They entered a long hall, its high ceiling supported by slim pillars, with statues of dwarves in a wide variety of costumes and poses placed along its length at strategic intervals.

"The Hall of Heroes," Voldrik muttered as they advanced through it. "Those are the Paragons of our people, our revered ancestors. Look, this one is Bemot, the founder of one of our most influential noble families. They're closely related to House Aeducan."

 _The ruling house._ Thorin nodded.

"And this is Garal." Voldrik pointed to the statue of a bearded dwarf, lifting a massive hammer with both hands. "He's the king who made Orzammar our capital."

"Why is it called Orzammar? What does the name mean?" Thorin asked absent-mindedly.

They were nearing the end of the hall now, where another gateway awaited them. Their guide signalled for them to wait a moment while he talked to the guard posted there.

"Oh, I know the answer to this one!" Sigrun grinned proudly. "My aunt used to tell me stories about Orzammar the miner. He was one of the seven founders of the dwarven empire." She beamed at Voldrik. "Isn't that right?"

The older dwarf smiled indulgently, but before he could answer, Thorin raised his hand, a pensive frown on his face. "Seven founders. That is curious."

"Why?" Sigrun looked at him in confusion. "That's what the legend says."

"It's just..." Thorin took a deep breath. "In my world the legends tell of seven fathers of the dwarves too. They were created by Aulë, the Smith, and all the clans trace their heritage back to them. I used to belong to Durin's folk." Unconsciously, he rubbed his beard. "It's a weird coincidence, that's all."

Sigrun shrugged. "Not all that surprising, though. Everyone knows dwarves always come in batches of seven."

Thorin looked at her with incomprehension and she sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "Don't they have nursery tales in your world?"

He was spared an answer by the return of their guide. Once more, a gate opened in front of them and they followed him through. Try as he might to appear unfazed, Thorin couldn't quite hold back a gasp at the sight that awaited them.

A vast cavern, illuminated by the warm glow of a lake of molten lava. In the middle of it the city rose, arranged in circular tiers around a central pillar, with rows upon rows of houses, hewn from the stone. Wide avenues, paved with flat flagstones connected the different quarters, gracefully arched bridges spanned channels and pools of lava, steep stairs led up and down to further levels.

"This district is called the Commons." A series of vivid emotions were chasing each other across Sigrun's face. Joy, wistfulness, disgust. "Dust Town is all the way down, near the entrances to the mines. But they'll probably take us up to the Diamond Quarter. After all, you're a visitor of importance."

Thorin took her hand and squeezed it hard, but he remained silent, almost overwhelmed by the cacophony of voices around them. There were dwarves everywhere, chatting, quarrelling, laughing, going about their daily business. Smiths and merchants, guards and artisans, dainty noblewomen and gossiping servants. More dwarves than he had seen since he had come to Thedas. Blight it, he couldn't even recall the last time he had seen so many dwarves in one place. Probably back before the Lonely Mountain fell.

It was a bustling place, chaotic and very much alive, practically begging for someone to take charge. Thorin instinctively straightened his spine, pulling himself up to his full height.

They had reached their destination.

Orzammar.

 

 


	7. Esteemed Guests

**Chapter 7 - Esteemed Guests**

While they were waiting for the king's representative to show up, people were eager to offer them seats and snacks, regarding the visitors with barely hidden curiosity. There were definite advantages to being part of an ambassador's entourage, Sigrun mused as she looked around. Orzammar hadn't changed much since she'd left. Some familiar buildings were gone, replaced by more spacious new structures, but for the most part she could have still found her way around in the dark. _If I were so inclined._ She bit back a cynical grin.

"Your Excellency." A dwarf in expensive ceremonial armour with neatly trimmed dark hair and beard walked up to Thorin, bowing deeply. " _Atrast vala._ I am Vartag Gavorn. King Bhelen asked me to welcome you to Orzammar. We are honoured to have a Grey Warden in our midst. Know that the dwarves of Orzammar have nothing but the highest respect for your noble order."

Thorin inclined his head regally. "Thank you, my lord. But I'm not the only Grey Warden who has come to Orzammar." He indicated Sigrun with a small gesture.

Gavorn turned to face her, his polite smile freezing in place when he noticed her Duster tattoos. He caught himself quickly, though. "My lady Warden. Welcome to Orzammar."

"Just Sigrun will do." She grinned back, enjoying his discomfiture. "It's nice to be back."

He nodded stiffly. "I'll take you to your lodgings first. King Bhelen is impatient to meet you, but I'm sure you'll want to refresh yourself before being introduced to him."

Leading the way, he escorted them to the gates of the Diamond Quarter, then through several streets filled with nobles going about their daily business. There was less overt staring here than in the Commons, but Sigrun felt their eyes upon her back the moment she walked past anyone. She decided to ignore the scandalized looks, though, focussing instead on the splendour surrounding them. Back in her Duster days, she'd rarely come to this part of town, and never during daytime. She remembered a few rather dicey break-ins, contract work mostly, looking for a specific trinket or compromising papers. It was a weird feeling, walking openly through these streets with all the lights on. She felt kind of exposed.

Gavorn stopped in front of a large townhouse within walking distance of the Royal Palace. It looked to be of fairly recent construction, not more than a few hundred years old at the most, and its facade was decorated in a quietly tasteful manner.

"Your residence." Gavorn indicated the heavy iron door. "There are offices and quarters for your entourage downstairs, and a large suite for your convenience on the first floor. I assume the lady Sigrun will be joining you there?"

Thorin's face gave nothing away. "You assume correctly."

At a gesture from Gavorn, their luggage was carried inside.

Inside, their guide bowed again, his expression slightly pinched. "I shall come back in an hour or so to take you to his Majesty. Let me know if there is anything you need."

Thorin dismissed him with a nod and smiled at Sigrun. "Join me upstairs."

"You bet." She felt a curious surge of excitement, almost giddiness. "I'm dying to see our quarters. I've never had a _suite_ before."

Voldrik and Dworkin were already busy exploring the ground floor. Sigrun followed Thorin up the wide, sweeping staircase, running her hand tentatively along the marble banister. Their suite turned out to consist of a large living room, a dining room, two bedrooms, a study and a private bathroom. The view of the city through the large windows was spectacular.

"Maker's mercy." Sigrun whistled through her teeth. "There's enough room for all  the Wardens in Ferelden in here."

Thorin nodded. "Bhelen is definitely aiming to please. Or to impress."

"Probably the latter, from what I've heard about him." Sigrun stretched, trying to work the kinks out of her neck. The large bed in the master bedroom looked comfortable and inviting and she was sore and tired from the journey. "Well, I'm not going to complain. Though we might have to hire extra servants."

They quickly changed into their official Warden uniforms. There wasn't enough time for a proper bath and Sigrun eyed the large marble tub with no small measure of regret. _Later_. But Maker, Thorin looked good in the blue and silver ceremonial armour Megan had commissioned for him! The colour brought out the blue of his eyes in a way that made her throat go dry. _Again, later._

She sighed and Thorin took her hand, a smile crinkling the corners of this eyes. "Come on. It doesn't do to keep a king waiting."

Gavorn was already expecting them downstairs. Sigrun shifted uncomfortably as she realized where she was about to go. The Royal Palace. An audience with the king. _So what?_ A small voice sneered inside her head. _Bhelen is a man like any other. He eats, he shits, he fucks his pretty_ _Dust_ _Town_ _concubine._ There was a thought. She was definitely not the first Duster to have made it into the Royal Palace.

Her ruminations kept her busy, so much so that their arrival in the throne room almost took her by surprise. The room was impressively large, with a raised dais at one end on which Bhelen sat enthroned. The king was a handsome, powerfully built dwarf with a flowing red beard and small, cunning eyes.

As they approached him, he rose from his chair and walked down the stairs to meet them. Another carefully calculated gesture, no doubt, but when he realized that Thorin's height would force him to tilt his head to look up, his eyes narrowed even further. He obviously hadn't expected the new ambassador to be quite so tall. Fortunately Thorin was quick to pick up on the reason for the king's ill-humour and gracefully bent his knee.

"Your Majesty." Thorin's deep voice easily reached the farthest corner of the room. Everyone turned as one to observe the newcomers.

"Esteemed Wardens." Bhelen smiled jovially. "You are very welcome to my kingdom."

Thorin nodded gravely. "Warden Commander Cousland asked me to convey her most respectful and heartfelt greetings to you, your Majesty. She said she would never forget the time she spent in Orzammar, nor the bonds that were forged during those weeks."

Bhelen's smile widened, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "And neither shall I. The Grey Wardens have always stood at our side against the threat of a Blight. Let us hope your presence will make our ties grow even stronger."

"That is our wish as well." Thorin nodded gravely. "We Wardens are well aware of your people's struggles against the darkspawn threat. Should any of your subjects feel a desire to join our order, we would welcome them with open arms."

The king raised an eyebrow. "We will have to talk more about this at a later time, Lord Thorin. But for now, let's leave those weighty matters aside. I am eager for more news about your Commander. Join me and tell me more about how she is faring these days."

Thorin rose, bowing deeply, and Bhelen motioned for him to take a seat next to the throne on the dais. The rest of the audience passed in a blur, and soon they were escorted back to their residence. When the door closed behind them, Sigrun exhaled deeply.

"Maker, I'm glad that's over." She walked over to Thorin, resting her head against his shoulder. "And much as I like that armour on you, I can't wait to get it off you and try out that lovely big tub."

Thorin laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. "You go first."

With a little help from her, he soon figured out how to work the gilded faucets, watching in awe as the tub began to fill with steaming hot water. She was almost beginning to fear he would appreciate the intricacy of the plumbing more than her company.

But then he stepped back and watched with single-minded concentration as she took off her armour and underclothes piece by piece, lingering a little longer than necessary on her smalls. His eyes grew darker with each garment and when she slid into the perfumed water with a long happy sigh, his eyes were glued to her naked breasts, bobbing pertly on the surface.

"You look... very tempting like this." His voice was almost a caress in itself.

He peeled off his own armour quickly. Closing her eyes, Sigrun arched up voluptuously, smiling to herself when she heard his answering growl. When she looked up again, he had just shed his last piece of clothing. _I am a very lucky lady._ Sigrun unconsciously licked her lips at the sight of him, all hard muscle and powerful arms and legs, his hair spreading behind him in the water as he joined her in the tub.

"Come here." She motioned for him to sit between her outstretched legs, with his back to her, and when he complied she let her hands run through his dark mane. "Let me wash your hair for you."

He leant back into her touch with a small moan of enjoyment as she carefully lathered up his flowing curls, massaging his scalp gently with her nimble fingers. His hair was thick and luscious and she thoroughly enjoyed the task. When she finished, her hands trailed deeper, smoothing down his chest hair and pausing for a moment on the familiar jagged scars covering his abdomen.

"You never told me where you got those." She had spoken on impulse, and she almost regretted it when his face darkened.

"A _warg_. A kind of large wolf," he elaborated when he realized she didn't know the word. "It got pretty close to killing me."

She nodded, tracing the scars softly with her fingertips until she felt the tension in his body lessen again. Only then did she let her hands wander even deeper, aiming for a different kind of tension. When she took hold of him, her hands slippery with soap, he groaned, pushing himself into her grip.

But when she started to stroke him, he shook his head and turned, pulling her close. "Let's get out of here. If I remember correctly, messing around in the water is more trouble than it's worth."

"It has its charms." She grinned, but didn't object when he pushed himself up on his arms out of the water.

Little droplets were glistening on his arms and chest as he got out and walked over to the towel rack, picking one for himself and one for her. When he wrapped her into the warm, soft fabric, she leaned back against him with a happy little noise.

"Bed." He didn't waste any more words, just picked her up and carried her over to the large four-poster in the adjoining room.

With exquisite gentleness, he lowered her onto the soft mattress and proceeded to dry her off carefully, inch by inch. Sigrun stretched like a cat, enjoying every moment of it. A Warden's life was seldom about luxuries, and she revelled in them, the lush texture of the towel and sheets, the warmth of the fire in the hearth, its spicy, earthy scent pervading the room. And of course Thorin's hands on her body, strong and hot, and surprisingly soft from their bath. It was sheer bliss, and her body felt heavier by the minute, all the aches and pains and tensions gone, warm and boneless.

She would have fallen asleep, had Thorin's touches not begun to take on an entirely different quality, teasing her nipples, insistently stroking up her thighs, until all the warmth focussed between her legs, heavy and pulsing. When it became almost too much to bear, she sat up, pushing against his shoulder to make him topple back, and began to return the favour.

Thorin's eyes were closed and his breath quickened as she ran her small hands down his chest, then further across his taut stomach and along that delicious groove where his legs met his torso, her favourite part of his body. _Well, maybe not the only favourite..._ His cock was hard already, proudly jutting out from its nest of dark curls. Unconsciously she licked her lips as she let her hands wander closer, doubling back just before she reached him, then repeated the procedure from the other side.

Normally he would have grabbed her at this point, growling his impatience, but the bath seemed to have relaxed him as well and he kept still, abandoning himself fully to her caresses, a slight shiver along his powerful frame all that indicated how much her touch affected him. It was a lovely sight, his body laid out for her to enjoy, not a trace of shame or reserve in him. Tonight he was all hers.

The pulse between her legs quickened and she realized she was getting past the point where she'd be content just to look at him and touch him. She wanted him, craved him, needed him to join with her, now.

As if he had read her mind, his eyes opened and he smiled at her, a smile full of tenderness and love, nothing held back. "Come here."

With slow, unhurried movements, he pulled her closer and made her lie down next to him, then turned onto his side, so he was spooning her body with his. His hand leisurely wandered down to her hips, gently lifting her upper thigh and opening her up a little so he could slide inside her from behind, inch by careful inch. When he was finally fully lodged inside her, he took a shaking breath and pulled her even closer to him, burying his face in her damp hair.

He was as close as he could get, deep, deep inside her, part of her, the feeling so intense that she hardly dared breathe. Sigrun closed her eyes, taking hold of his hand that was cupping her breast, pressing it tightly. A bright, warm light was beginning to spread all through her body, starting somewhere deep inside her, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: sheer, pure happiness. This was anything she could ever have wanted from life. Being in his arms, basking in his love, this was as good as it got. For what seemed like an eternity they lay like this, clinging to each other, lost in this single, perfect moment.

Eventually he did move, small, shallow thrusts that kept her on the edge for what seemed like hours, refusing to be rushed. When she finally did come, it was a tingling sensation, flowing all through her body in a single, uninterrupted stream, down into her very fingertips, sweet and poignant. He followed her soon, muttering endearments into her ears, his fists clenching helplessly as the same sweet ecstasy overtook him.

He fell asleep as soon as they had parted. Sigrun caressed his sleeping face affectionately, but found she couldn't join him yet. She disentangled herself from his arms and walked over to the large window front overlooking Orzammar. It was a glorious sight from up here, the massive stone buildings illuminated by flows of lava, its red shine lending them an unearthly beauty. She had never realized just how beautiful the city was, how timeless, how breathtaking. Was this home?

Turning back to see Thorin stretched out on their bed, Sigrun shook her head. No. Home wasn't a place, not even this one, no matter how many old memories it brought back. Home was where she was loved, where she felt safe. From now on and until the end of her days, her home would be with him.


	8. Consorts and Concubines

**Chapter 8 - Consorts and Concubines**

Breakfast was served in the dining room of their suite, and it was lavish, including not just bread, butter and assorted spreads, but all manner of hot and cold dishes, arranged on a sideboard – far more food than the two of them could hope to eat. Thorin filled his plate with fried eggs and something that looked and smelled like bacon but tasted subtly different.

"Nug bacon," Sigrun explained when she saw the puzzled expression on his face as he was chewing. "Remember those little animals we saw in the Commons? They are quite tasty, aren't they?"

Thorin nodded absent-mindedly. He couldn't help but wonder if all dwarven nobles ate like this. Maybe it was just a show put on by Bhelen to impress his Warden guests. Thorin would ask the steward about this, he decided, with a glance at the plates piled high on the sideboard. Both he and Sigrun had big appetites, but this was over the top. There was no need to let all those delicacies go to waste on a regular basis.

A servant announcing a visitor tore him out of his musings. He hadn't expected anyone to show up at their residence so shortly after their arrival, but both politeness and curiosity prompted him to find out who it could be. At his gesture, the servant disappeared with an eager bow.

"Runa? Is this really you, darling?" A finely dressed dwarven lady appeared in the open doorway. Her long blond hair was delicately braided and she was carefully made-up to conceal most of the duster tattoo on her cheek.

"Lil!" Sigrun beamed from ear to ear as she jumped up and pulled the petite blond dwarf into a bear hug. "By the Stone, you look so pretty!"

"And you..." The woman's lip quivered. "I never thought I'd see you again, _salroka_. I thought you were dead. Or worse."

"I'm very much alive!" Sigrun turned to face Thorin. "Thorin! Meet my old friend Lilja. We practically grew up together, down in Dust Town. Her family took me in after my mother died."

Thorin nodded gravely at Lilja, and she smiled back, fluttering her eyelashes as if it were habit. "Sigrun! Who is this? And where did you find him?" Her openly appraising glance left Thorin vaguely uncomfortable. "My, my. What a very, very fine fellow. You've always had such good taste in men." She smiled a wide, cat-like smile. "Maybe we could... But you were never one for sharing, were you, Runa?"

Thorin nearly choked on his tea. Had she really just suggested...? He was torn between shocked disapproval and some decidedly less lofty feelings. There was no denying that Lilja was very beautiful, and the images her words conjured up were enough to send a flash of heat to his groin.

To his surprise, Sigrun didn't seem offended but just grinned proudly. "Exactly. Besides, I know you, Lil. You are far too clever to endanger your current position with such an adventure." She ran a finger along the gold embroidery on Lilja's dress. "You seem to have done well for yourself. Who is the lucky fellow?"

Lilja rolled her eyes. "Old Ragnar Vollney. I've borne him two sons, but the way things are looking lately, there won't be any more." She made a quick, obscene gesture that made Thorin blush. "But he's a kind old soul and he takes good care of me. And he leaves me to my own devices most of the time. It's not too bad."

Thorin cleared his throat. "So you are..."

"A noble hunter, yes." Lilja grinned, clearly amused by his embarrassment. "Back when Sigrun left, I was still scraping a living in Dust Town, hoping for some noble to put a baby in my belly." She turned back to her friend. "Oh, Runa, I can't believe it's really you. Just think what Mother will say! And Ulf!"

"Ulf?" Thorin raised a questioning eyebrow at Sigrun.

"Lilja's brother." Sigrun smiled fondly, lost in memories. "We used to be close." When she noticed Thorin's grim silence, she flashed him a quick, embarrassed grin. "But that was ages ago. He's probably happily married with a bunch of kids by now."

Lilja shook her head. "He's never been able to forget you. He even talked about joining the Legion himself, going out to find you, but Mother wouldn't have it."

Thorin's frown deepened. Lilja looked back and forth between the two of them, obviously enjoying the developing drama. "Uh-oh. I'd better leave you two alone to talk this out. Care to meet for a game of Diamondback some other night, sweetheart?"

"I will try, but I really can't make any promises." Sigrun shrugged apologetically. "We'll probably be fully taken up with official appointments. But we'll see."

Lilja smiled, not at all taken aback. "You'll be here for some time, darling. And Runa..." Her face grew serious. "Be careful. King Bhelen didn’t get where he is by sweet talk. If he should ever consider you a threat..."

"I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you." Sigrun embraced her friend again.

As soon as Lilja left, Sigrun busied herself at the buffet, chattering on in a light tone. "I really don't recommend playing cards with Lil, you know. She'd probably strip you clean and leave you naked in the street."

"It doesn't seem as if she would need an excuse for that." Thorin failed to keep the growl out of his voice. "Really, I can't imagine you were ever friends with that woman. She's little more than a-"

"Don't!" Sigrun's shoulders tensed visibly. "A noble hunter never charges money. And even if she did..." She turned to face him, sounding more agitated than he'd ever heard her. "We were duster girls. We didn't have the luxury of your high moral standards. Lilja survived by accepting lavish gifts from her noble suitors and I-" She broke off.

Thorin swallowed. What did he really know of her past, of the things she'd done to survive? Back at Vigil's Keep, it hadn't really meant a thing when she had told him she was a girl from the slums. She had been Sigrun, pretty, pert and sweet, and her past had been of little consequence. But now it was beginning to dawn on him that she might well have been a whore or a thief. Or worse. Would he be able to live with that knowledge? Did he even dare ask?

He opened his mouth to speak, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Thorin hardly recognized his own voice, hoarse and strained.

Vartag Gavorn stepped over the threshold. "Your Excellency? Would you kindly follow me to the Assembly Chamber? The King has requested your presence for this morning's Assembly. Just you," he added with a perfunctory bow in Sigrun's direction.

Thorin ground his teeth in frustration. "Of course. Just give me a moment." As Vartag withdrew, his features carefully bland, Thorin took Sigrun's hand between his. "I'm sorry, love. We'll talk later."

She nodded curtly, but didn't reply. There was a far-away look in her eyes.

* * *

  
Sigrun sat back with a sigh, dropping her book on a small table. It had been a long, boring day, and she was tired of reading. She had spent the morning with Voldrik and Dworkin, setting up their temporary workshops in the courtyard behind the house, in the silent hope that Dworkin wouldn't blow the whole mansion up with his experiments.

She had hoped Thorin would be back for lunch, but there'd been no sign of him, so she had joined the others down in the kitchen and then gone up to the suite she shared with her lover. By the time the town-criers announced the end of the day, her armour was spanking clean and all her knives and poisons in impeccable order.

When she finally heard Thorin at the door, she jumped up to meet him. He looked tired and worn-out.

"By Aulë's hammer, I've had enough of nobles and deshyrs to last me a lifetime." He sighed deeply as he began to take off the heavy ceremonial mail. "Bhelen seemed intent on introducing me to every single one of them."

She made a face. "Orzammar's finest, eh? No wonder you are so testy."

"I'm not testy!" He cursed as a buckle refused to give. "Just tired. And I wish I'd told Megan to find someone else to do this job."

"That bad?" She tried to sound sympathetic, but his bad mood was beginning to wear off on her. Her day hadn't exactly been exciting either. "Any names you recall? I'm hardly an expert on Orzammar's nobility, but maybe I can come up with some useful background knowledge."

Thorin waved his hand dismissively. "There were so many of them. Lord Bemot, Lady Dace, Lord Meino... Ragnar Vollney was there too. Your friend Lilja's... patron."

Sigrun chewed her lip thoughtfully. "House Vollney... They are not so bad, I guess. Less stuck up than many others. I met one of them, Varlan, when I was in the Legion. He was a friend, of sorts. When he died-" She shook off the memory, making a face. "I've no idea what Ragnar is like, though. Anyway, from what Lilja said, he's too old to be a deshyr."

Thorin nodded. "The representative for House Vollney was a younger man. I didn't quite catch his name. Darvak? Darvanak? Not sure." He sighed. "About your friend, though..."

Sigrun raised her chin. If he couldn't let go of this, she was determined to have it out. "Yes?"

There was another knock on the door. "What is it now?" Thorin failed miserably at keeping the irritation out of his voice.

The young, liveried servant bowed deeply. "King Bhelen and the Lady Rica invite you and your... companion to their private chambers for an informal evening of entertainment, your Excellency."

Thorin threw her an exasperated glance. Sigrun shrugged. It was not the sort of invitation you could decline, even she knew that. She was surprised to be included in it, though. "We'll be on our way shortly."

* * *

  
They were escorted to a cosy little suite at the back of the Royal Palace, far less magnificent than the throne room, but a lot more comfortable, with well-upholstered furniture in bright and cheerful colours. Rica's domain, it seemed.

King Bhelen greeted them with a jovial smile, waving aside all formalities. "No need to stand on ceremony here, my dear Wardens. I want you to enjoy the evening."

Thorin sighed inwardly. He would have much preferred to stay in their own quarters and make an effort to overcome the distance that had sprung up between him and Sigrun since last night. He glanced at her. She seemed determined to make the best of this evening, chatting pleasantly with Rica who had put down her string harp to come and greet them as well.

King Bhelen's concubine was a stunningly beautiful woman. Her fiery red hair flowed down her back, gleaming like a river of molten lava when it caught the light. She had lovely eyes too, green and expressive. And she was an accomplished hostess, making sure they were properly seated and provided with drinks in no time at all.

"Grey Wardens! You must lead such exciting lives." Her voice was warm and agreeable. "I'm sure my little Endrin would love to hear some of your stories."

A cute red-haired little boy was playing with a toy bronto on a rug before the fireplace. At her words he looked up with a hopeful smile.

Sigrun got down on her knees next to him and smiled back. "Prince Endrin! I bet you're going to be a great warrior when you grow up. Would you like me to tell you a story?"

The boy nodded eagerly. Thorin watched with affection as Sigrun launched into a heavily bowdlerized version of their last adventure on patrol.

Bhelen had observed the scene with obvious pride. Now he sat down opposite Thorin at the large table, reaching for his own jug of lichen ale. Thorin nipped cautiously. Sigrun had warned him that the king's preferred drink was stronger than surfacer fare. He had no doubt he could take it, but it never hurt to be careful. 

"You've ruffled quite a few feathers by bringing her to the Diamond Quarter and parading her around in the streets, you know." With a careless motion of his tankard Bhelen indicated Sigrun, who was gesticulating wildly as she described an ogre. "Even if she is a very charming young lady indeed." He winked conspiratorially at Thorin. "Look, personally I don't blame you. I'm hardly in a position to lecture. After all, I've lost my own heart to a lovely duster girl."

Thorin found it hard to control the impulse to answer this appropriately. _There's a world of difference here, you old rake! Sigrun means far more to me than you would ever understand._ But of course he couldn't say any of this aloud. He took a deep breath. "Sigrun is a Warden, just like me. Her past is no longer relevant."

"Oh, but it is, at least here in Orzammar." Bhelen's eyes suddenly turned clear and cold, the jovial mask dropping in a heartbeat as he leant forward over the table and fixed Thorin with a piercing stare. "Is it true that she used to be a member of the Legion of the Dead? Such a pity, to have to embrace death at such a young age."

"What of it?" Thorin took care to keep his voice perfectly level. "As I said, she is a Warden now. As far as I'm concerned, she's alive and well."

Bhelen spread his hands with an exaggerated shrug. "An understandable attitude, considering the tenets of your order. Yet... There are many here in this city who would feel offended that she has chosen to evade an honourable death."

Thorin forced himself to hold the king's gaze steadily. "Postpone rather than evade, wouldn't you say, your Majesty? What remains of her life is dedicated to fighting darkspawn, no matter what."

There was a long moment of silence before Bhelen began to chuckle softly. "Indeed, indeed, my dear Warden. You will all die in the Deep Roads, sooner or later." He threw his head back and guffawed, as if he'd made a particularly funny remark. "Come on. Let's drink to your final sacrifice!"

Thorin just barely resisted the urge to kick back his chair and leave. Instead, he took a deep breath and raised his tankard. "To sacrifice! Ours and your people's!"

Bhelen nodded vigorously. "I'll drink to that."

By the time they returned to their quarters and sank into their bed, Thorin's head was spinning with exhaustion. All he wanted was sleep, a chance to sort out all the new impressions and to gather his wits again.

"Voldrik wants to take the tablets to the Shaperate tomorrow." Sigrun yawned at his side.

"Oh, blight it, I had completely forgotten about that. Is it really that important?" Thorin winced as he stretched his neck.

"What do you mean?" Sigrun's voice had taken on an icy tone. "Of course it is. Well, maybe not from a _noble_ perspective."

"Oh please. Why do you always have to misconstrue everything I say?" Maker, he was so tired. Why couldn't she-

"It's hardly something I do on a regular basis." Sigrun's eyes were flashing with anger now. "Whereas you-"

"Can we stop this now?" It came out far more abrupt than he had intended.

Sigrun's lips tightened and she turned away from him with a shrug, extinguishing her lamp. The room became pitch dark.

"Sigrun?" There was no answer. With a sigh, Thorin lay back. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	9. Beneath Notice

**Chapter 9 - Beneath Notice**

As soon as she opened her eyes the memory was back, together with an ear-splitting headache. Sigrun almost whimpered when the bright light of morning sent a lance of pain through her skull. They had quarrelled, Thorin and her. And what a singularly stupid quarrel it had been. Carefully she rolled over on her side to find Thorin, but he had already gotten up. Well, _he_ had slept like a log last night, while she had lain awake, repeating his words and hers in her head over and over again, trying in vain to sort out who had started it.

Sigrun threw the coverlet back with a resigned sigh and reached for a mild healing potion. If she was honest, it didn't really matter. They had both been tired and irritable and hadn't meant half of what they'd said.

But what if he had meant it? What if he’d spoken the truth in an unguarded moment? Did he really think the fate of the casteless of Kal'Hirol was unimportant, a mere historical footnote? Her lips settled in a thin line. No matter what Thorin said, they would go to the Shaperate today.

As she had expected, Voldrik was eager to go, and even Dworkin put on some semblance of a smile when they set out. Thorin had said little when she had repeated her reminder at breakfast, but he had nodded his assent. Fortunately Vartag Gavorn hadn't shown up or sent a message, so they were free to go as soon as they pleased.

The Shaperate wasn't actually far from their house, just past the Assembly Chamber, in an ancient, venerable building, probably as old as the city itself. The Shaper at the door greeted them with a deep, respectful bow.

"Your Excellency. You honour us with your visit." He addressed himself exclusively to Thorin, eyeing Sigrun with considerable distrust. "If you will follow me, I will take you to the Lord Shaper himself."

They followed him toward the far end of the room. The place was much as Thorin had expected, rows upon rows of bookshelves lining the walls, silent scribes scuttling about on some mysterious business or other, the musty smell of old paper filling the air.

The Lord Shaper Czibor was deep in conversation with one of his senior assistants. As soon as he saw them coming, he waved her away and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, a smile on his wrinkled old face. "Lord Thorin. It is an unexpected pleasure to see you here in this place of memories. It fills my old heart with joy to learn that you take an interest in our noble history."

Thorin nodded gravely. "Your task is a worthy one, Lord Shaper. Please be assured of my highest respect for your work."

The old man stroked his flowing white beard with a satisfied smile. "You honour me, Lord Thorin. Maybe you would like to tour our archives? We have a veritable wealth of ancient manuscripts for you to peruse, and of course I could look out for anything pertaining to your noble family-"

"My family..." Thorin coughed delicately. "I would greatly prefer not to talk about them, Lord Shaper. My great-grandfather didn't leave Orzammar voluntarily, you understand, and he wouldn't wish for the family name to be dragged to the light again."

"Of course." The Shaper had the grace to look embarrassed. "I didn't mean to-"

"I'm sure you didn't." Thorin cut him off with a regal smile. "However, there's another matter that I would like to bring to your attention."

He motioned for Voldrik to come to the front with the heavy stone tablets he was carrying. "Warden Commander Cousland sends her regards, my lord, and asks you respectfully to record the information she has found in the ruins of Kal'Hirol."

"Commander Cousland!" The old man's face brightened. "But of course. She found some fascinating records for me when she was here, you know. Such an amazingly resourceful young lady, and so respectful and modest."

Thorin had to hide his amusement behind a sudden fit of coughing. It seemed Megan had played her part well when she had met with the Lord Shaper. Much as he respected and admired the Commander, he would hardly have described her as "modest". But the old man's fond memories would serve him well now, or so he hoped.

Voldrik put the tablets down on the Lord Shaper's desk with utmost care, removing the wrappings. Thorin added Dailan's tattered old journal, then stepped back to let the Lord Shaper take a look. He was dismayed to see the old man's eager smile turn into a frown after a few pages, though.

"What is this about, Lord Thorin? Would you mind giving me a quick summary of this?" Yes, there was a definite undertone of irritation in the Lord Shaper's brittle voice.

"These records prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that the casteless of Kal'Hirol sacrificed themselves in a heroic effort to hold back the darkspawn army, thus buying their fellow citizens enough time to reach the safety of Orzammar. Their names ought to be recorded for posterity, so their noble deed won't be forgotten." Thorin kept his voice calm and steady.

The Lord Shaper took his time answering, humming and hawing, before he would finally meet Thorin's eyes. "The casteless of Kal'Hirol, you say... Well, this is a conundrum, my lord." He sniffled, throwing a quick, sideways glance at Sigrun. "You see, the Shaperate doesn't normally record anything related to those unfortunate ones. Our task is to preserve anything worthy of notice, and the casteless-"

There was no mistaking the tiny frustrated huff coming from Sigrun's lips. Behind her, Voldrik could be heard grinding his teeth in silent anger.

"Are you implying that a sacrifice such as this is not worthy of notice?" Thorin allowed his voice to take on a definite edge. "May I direct your attention to this journal, my lord? It belonged to a noble named Dailan who died defending the city. Let me quote his last words to you. _To call them "casteless" would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten._ "

The Lord Shaper was getting visibly uncomfortable. "Of course, of course. Still, many among us would be aghast at the mere idea of casteless bearing arms, no matter how noble the cause."

"But didn't King Bhelen himself allow the casteless to take up arms against the darkspawn?" Thorin wasn't about to let any advantage go to waste, tiny as it might be. "Surely, if the king himself could avail himself of their help during the Blight..."

"Yes, yes, that is very true." The Lord Shaper was obviously running out of arguments. "Still, you will understand that I can't make such a far-reaching decision without consulting with a few of my colleagues."

"You can't?" Thorin raised a surprised eyebrow. "It was my impression that your word is law here, my Lord Shaper. But of course I am an outsider and I might have misunderstood."

"You most certainly haven't." The old man raised himself to his full height, shaking with indignation. "No one here will question my authority." He took a deep breath, appearing to come to a decision. "So be it, then. We will add the names of these dwarves to the Memories. And it shall be recorded that your Commander reclaimed the history of the last days of Kal'Hirol for us."

"I am sure she will be honoured to hear that." Thorin did his best to hide his triumph.

Next to him, Sigrun wasn't quite as successful in hiding her feelings, and the Lord Shaper glanced at her sharply when she muttered a few colourful curses under her breath. _I'd better distract him before he changes his mind._ "Now, you mentioned a tour around the archives. Maybe you could show me around while your scribes record the names?"

 

* * *

They left the Shaperate a few hours after noon and took a walk down to the Commons. The whole affair had taken far longer than Thorin had expected, and he was feeling thirsty after spending hours in the dry air of the archive. "Is there any place we can get a drink here?" He looked around searchingly.

"Of course." Voldrik beamed happily. "Tapster's Tavern used to be my favourite haunt when I was a young dwarf. Let's head there. It's not far."

The tavern was obviously popular, with a fair number of patrons even at this early hour. It was a pleasant enough place, with a good selection of ales and meads and a cosy, laid-back atmosphere. Just what they needed after a morning spent among dusty old records and arrogant scribes.

With a heartfelt sigh, Thorin leant against the counter and signalled to the barkeep. "A round of your best brew for myself and my companions, good woman."

The tiny redhead shook her head, pointing at Sigrun with a moue of distaste. "No drinks for dusters, that's the rule. Sorry."

"What do you mean?" Thorin's patience was wearing thin. He'd had just about enough of this topic to last him a lifetime. "She is a Grey Warden, and your stupid rules no longer apply to her. Now bring us some ale!"

"Ah, no, I can't do that, my lord. The rules are the rules, you know." The woman's face wore a stubborn expression.

"Do you have any idea who you are talking to, you wretch?" Voldrik was bristling with righteous indignation. "This is Thorin Oakenshield, the Warden Ambassador to Orzammar."

The barkeep shook her head sadly. "I am sorry, my lord. But my answer would be the same if you were Lord Gavorn himself. We have our principles, and we don't serve the casteless here. Wouldn't want to drive away the-"

A deep silky voice cut her off mid-sentence. "You will serve this one. She's an old friend of mine. And make sure you get them the Valenta's. Nothing but the best for my friends."

The voice belonged to a young dwarf of no more than medium height but with wide, strong shoulders. He was strikingly handsome, though his nose appeared to have been broken at least once. His beard was neatly trimmed and his blond hair cut short enough to stand up in thick, upright spikes around his tattooed face. Despite being a duster, he was obviously not poor, for he wore a fine dark leather armour studded with metal and he was well armed.

The barkeep blanched and bowed. "Of course. A round of Valenta's Red. My lords, my... lady."

She bustled off to fill their tankards. The newcomer leaned against the counter with a wide grin, his cool grey eyes examining Sigrun from head to toe. "Runa, honey. You look good. Are you happy to see me again?"

"Ulf!" Sigrun favoured him with a cautious smile. "Thank you. I was beginning to be afraid we'd have to leave."

She kept up a cool, detached facade, but Thorin could tell by her faint blush how agitated she was by meeting Ulf again. And he couldn't blame her. The young dwarf was quite impressive. _Yes, he's young,_ a tiny voice at the back of his mind supplied. _And he has known her forever. I wonder what exactly was going on between them._

Sigrun made no move to embrace or kiss Ulf, but gestured at Thorin instead. "This is Thorin Oakenshield, my fellow Warden. Thorin, this is Ulf, Lilja's brother. A very old friend."

"Among other things." Ulf winked at her as he grasped Thorin's hand. "I'll make sure the barkeep won't trouble either of you again. This is my turf, and he'd better not make me upset."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. The young dwarf was a little too arrogant for his taste. "You seem to have considerable influence in here."

Ulf grinned. "We pretty much run this place. Always have."

 _'We' being the Carta._ Thorin had a hard time hiding his disapproval. How King Bhelen could allow these criminals so much leeway was a thing he couldn't fathom.

Sigrun nodded. "Who's in charge of things nowadays?"

"Well, you probably know Beraht is gone." Ulf chuckled mirthlessly. "A little while after you left Jarvia got rid of him. She did a good job of keeping things in check, but then your _Warden Commander_ came to Orzammar and messed everything up again."

Megan had told them about her run-in with the Carta leader, of course. Thorin couldn't imagine anyone being particularly sad about Jarvia's demise. Judging by Megan's description, the woman had been cold and calculating, going from seducing her former boss to killing him without any qualms.

Sigrun just shrugged, refusing to be baited. "Commander Cousland had her reasons."

Ulf sneered. "Yeah, well, after Jarvia's death things got pretty bad for a while. Lots of in-fighting, ugly stuff, no one to keep people on track. And then, a few months ago, Karshol suddenly showed up again. Apparently he'd been lying low, waiting for the storm to pass. They welcomed him back with open arms."

"So Karshol's the new top guy." Sigrun sighed. "I remember him. Clever bastard."

Ulf snorted his agreement, then glanced at Sigrun. "Will you come down and visit with us, _salroka_? There's many from the old crowd who'd be glad to meet you again. Unless Dust Town is beneath you now."

"Don't be stupid." Sigrun took a deep swig from her ale. "I'll be there. Tomorrow morning?"

He nodded. "Mother won't hear of leaving the old place, so you know where to find me." There was a brief, awkward silence before he looked at her intently again, his swagger briefly making room for a sincere smile. "To see you alive and well... We've missed you."

"It's been a long time." She nodded at him. "See you tomorrow."

When Ulf had left, the crowd respectfully making room for him as he made for the door, Thorin exhaled sharply. "What is this about? He's casteless too, isn't he? Why do they bow and scrape before him?"

Sigrun took a moment to answer. "Did you see the tattoo on his wrist?"

Thorin nodded. It had been eye-catching, a heavy dark chain running all the way around the young dwarf's forearm. "What does it mean?"

"He's a Carta enforcer." Sigrun's voice was a little shaky. "The Carta rules with fear, and the enforcers are the ones who make sure people feel the... consequences if they misbehave. It seems Ulf has gone up in the ranks quite a lot since I last saw him."

She didn't sound happy, and Thorin didn't ask. Things were turning out a lot more complicated than he had anticipated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely pic of Ulf painted by chenria.


	10. Meet the Family

**Chapter 10 - Meet the Family**

"So do you really plan on going down to Dust Town today?" Thorin inquired as cautiously as possible. He was burning to know more about her and Ulf, but his pride kept him from asking directly.

Besides, they still hadn't had time to talk. When they'd come home the day before, Thorin's new secretary had been waiting for them. He was a distant cousin of King Bhelen by the name of Baldur, whose family connections had helped him obtain this prestigious position. The young dwarf had been eager to introduce himself and to go through a veritable mountain of paperwork with him, most of it pertaining to the planned resettling of Kal'hirol.

Sigrun had been asleep when he finally turned in, or she had pretended to be.

She took a sip of tea, reaching for another slice of bread. "I can go by myself, if you'd rather not."

"Of course I'll come with you!" He felt the irritation rising again.

"Why? I can look after myself." Sigrun's mouth was set in a stubborn line he knew only too well.

Thorin sighed. "I don't doubt it. But I want to see the place for myself. And maybe you'll be glad not to be alone."

She shrugged, but didn't protest any more. They set out shortly after breakfast.

As they went down through the different tiers of Orzammar, Thorin kept his eyes wide open. It was all still very new to him, and he kept being surprised by the sheer size and variety of the city's population. The lower they climbed, the noisier it became, as if the poor wanted to make up for the lack of comfort by being especially boisterous. On the lower end of the Commons, stallholders proclaimed the virtues of their produce in shrill voices, and nug herders drove their charges straight through the crowd. Thorin wrinkled his nose at the smell.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him once they descended the stairs into Dust Town, however. Thorin had seen slums before, both in his own world and in this one. Nathaniel had taken him to Denerim a few weeks ago, and they had passed through the elven alienage. But what he had observed there paled in comparison to the sheer squalor of the streets of Dust Town.

What houses there were, were little more than ruins or mean hovels, leaning against openings in the rock wall. Most of the people seemed to live right on the street, between heaps of garbage and piles of bronto dung, their children playing in the offal. There were beggars everywhere, looking up at him with empty, hopeless eyes as he passed them, their skin covered in sores. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his reaction from showing. Sigrun glanced at him briefly, her face closing up when she noticed his expression of shock and disgust.

"It used to be worse, you know." Her voice was curiously flat. "Before I left, no one here was allowed to do any honest work. At least Bhelen's reforms mean that some of them can make a decent living."

"They weren't _allowed_ to work?" Thorin shook his head, amazed at the absurdity of the system.

Sigrun chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh no. Work is organized according to caste here. No caste, no work. Well, unless you work for the Carta. If you don't, all you can do is beg or get some nobleman to notice your pretty face."

Thorin took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. The smell was stifling. "And your... family still live here?"

"Well, kind of my family." Sigrun still wasn't looking him in the eye. "I never knew my father and my mother died when I was too young to fend for myself, so Aunt Vigga and Uncle Ari took me in. They're not really my aunt and uncle, you know, but Vigga has a kind heart."

"And your uncle?" Thorin dreaded her answer, but to his relief Sigrun laughed.

"He wasn't too bad. He killed my pet nug, though, slaughtered it for dinner. Well, I guess if he hadn't done it, someone else would have." She quickly grew serious again. "I doubt he's still alive, though. He had the wasting sickness."

Thorin hardly knew what to say, but was spared a reply, when a small group of younger dwarves came toward them, bright smiles on their faces. He immediately recognized the one leading them. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach. Ulf.

* * *

"Runa, honey. Here you are!" Ulf greeted her with a broad smile, putting one strong arm casually around her shoulders. "Look who's here, friends."

Sigrun swallowed as she looked into all their familiar faces. She hadn't expected to see any of them ever again. In a daze, she managed to stammer some sort of reply to their welcomes, some part of her wishing she was back at Vigil's Keep, far away from all those reminders of what would never be her life again.

When she found she couldn't take their excited chatter any more, she turned to Ulf. "What about your parents? Are they well?"

"Father has been gone these three years." Ulf didn't seem overly saddened by the fact. "And Mother has grown old. But come, I'll take you to see her. "

Sigrun glanced hesitantly back at Thorin. He nodded at her, keeping well back as she followed Ulf into the small hut she remembered so well. Vigga was sitting in her favourite place, close to the only window slit, where she could have a little light for mending. She looked very fragile, her hands gnarled and wrinkled. And yet, she wasn't really that old. Dust Town made people age long before their time.

Kneeling at the woman's side, Sigrun gently took her hand. "Auntie? It's me, Runa. I've come home."

She had expected a tight hug, tears of joy maybe, but Vigga just looked at her with a sad shake of her head. "Is it true then, child? You've left the legion and gone to live on the surface?"

Sigrun nodded, her throat tightening. "It's true. But I'm with good people, auntie. We fight darkspawn, just like the legion does. And I-"

A large tear rolled down Vigga's wrinkled cheek. "Oh Runa, child, what have you done? You're lost to the Stone. Far better to have died with honour down in the Deep Roads. Now you'll never return to your ancestors."

"You don't mean that, do you?" It took her a moment to find her voice again. "Would you really wish me dead? Auntie?"

But Vigga refused to even look at her. Sigrun choked on a sob. A warm hand settled on her shoulder. Ulf. He must have listened outside. She didn't mind. She was grateful for his support right now.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her out of the room with an apologetic smile. "Come, honey. You'd better leave."

Out in the narrow hallway, Ulf didn't let go of her, but swivelled her around until she was leaning against the wall. Sigrun shook her head, unsure of how deal with Vigga's rejection. "I don't know what to say. Can she be serious?"

He put on a calming smile, one hand placed casually on her hip, his head tilted slightly to the side. "Don't take it so hard. She's old and superstitious."

"What about you?" She wiggled uncomfortably. His muscular body in front of her was a little closer than she would have liked. "Do _you_ think I'm lost? Are you afraid of the sun too?"

Ulf laughed merrily, his gold-capped teeth gleaming in the light of the tallow lamp. "Nugshit! You know I'm not afraid of anything. And you must know how glad I am to have you back."

He stepped even closer, pinning her to the wall now. _Oh yes, he's definitely glad to see me._

Sigrun cast about for a safe topic. "Could you imagine living on the surface then?"

He shrugged, unwilling to be distracted. "There are Carta cells topside. I could easily work for one of them. It wouldn't be all that different, I guess. And just think of all the fun we could have, you and me."

His hand slid upward, cupping her breast, teasing her nipple through the thin fabric of her tunic. "You used to like this, didn't you?" His cocky grin broadened. "Still like it from the feel of it."

Sigrun inhaled sharply, silently cursing her body's betrayal. She didn't _want_ his touch, wanted even less to respond to it. Ulf was just as handsome as he used to be, but something had changed. Maybe it was her, maybe she was no longer the girl she'd been back then, but something in his brazen attitude put her off.

"You wouldn't leave the Carta?"

He seemed irritated by her question. "Why would I? Things were going well for me, even before you left, but since Lil has taken up with old Vollney, my position is even better. Karshol likes me. I could go far, here or topside, you know." His breathing got faster and his grip on her breast tightened, becoming almost painful. "Don't tell me you've grown a conscience, all of a sudden?"

She took a deep breath. "Ulf, I... Please let me go."

He leaned closer, trying to catch her lips "Come on, hon. Relax. Or have you forgotten all the good times we used to have? You know how happy I can make you."

Sigrun realized with sudden clarity that kind words wouldn't be enough to make him understand. This was no longer the Ulf she had known, rash and boisterous, but ultimately sweet. Or maybe he had always been like this and she had been too young and foolish to see it? No matter. She sighed softly, melting into his embrace for a moment, but when he relaxed her right hand moved, fast as lightning.

Before he could react, her slim dagger was firmly planted against his crotch. "Take your hands off me, or I'll make sure you won't make any girl happy ever again!"

Ulf swallowed, unsure whether she was serious, but when she increased the pressure, smiling sweetly at him, he stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of wounded innocence.

She breathed out slowly, keeping an eye on his every movement.

"Sigrun?" Thorin's voice seemed neutral, but she knew him well enough to pick up the tension in it. _Shit! How long has he been standing there, in the doorway? And did he see-_

"I was getting worried." The icy glare he threw at Ulf was unmistakable. "Is everything alright?"

She nodded. "I was just about to leave." Without so much as a glance back, she walked up to him and headed for the door.

* * *

Thorin kept silent until they had reached the privacy of their chambers, but as soon as the door closed behind them, he took hold of Sigrun, making her face him. "What was this about? Did he-"

She shook off his grip, his anger reflected in her eyes. "Don't you trust me? Is that it? Do you honestly think I couldn't wait to return to his arms?" A short bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Well, you should be relieved, really. Now that you've seen it all."

He stepped back, genuinely bewildered by her words. "What- No! I'm not blind. Any idiot could see his advances weren't welcome. And what do you mean, now I've seen it all?"

"All of it! The utter mess I grew up in. No one could blame you if you wanted to keep your distance after that." There was such raw pain in her voice that it almost broke his heart. "And if you trust me, then why are you so angry?"

Thorin shook his head, embracing her again, more firmly. This time she didn't push him away, but her eyes remained wary.

"I'm not angry at you, love. And I certainly don't want to keep my distance." He struggled to keep calm, but the rage kept flaring up inside him. "But I swear, if I could lay my hands on this thug now, I would-"

"Ulf?" Sigrun looked at him searchingly, as if to verify he was speaking the truth, then, to his surprise, she began to laugh. "Oh, don't bother. I can handle him."

"I know. Doesn't mean I wouldn't love to show him you're mine, though." Thorin pulled her tightly into his arms, smiling against her hair. Finally the strained silence was broken. Finally they were talking again, laughing together again.

There was one more thing he had to ask her, though. "When you were with the Carta... What exactly did you do?" He swallowed. "I wouldn't ask, but what you said about Ulf and the enforcers-"

Sigrun blanched. "Ancestors, no, nothing of the kind! I wouldn't have... If you knew what they do to people, you wouldn't have to ask. No. I was a thief, a burglar. Did some other odd jobs too, framing people, reconnoitring, that kind of stuff." Her eyes were intently fixed on Thorin. "I'm not proud of my past. I hurt and wronged a lot of people, and I may have killed a few when we were fighting our way out of trouble. But please believe me when I tell you I never was a paid killer."

Thorin exhaled slowly, relief flooding him. "I do believe you. Besides, all this was a long time ago."

Sigrun hid her face against his chest. "I guess I'm no longer the person I used to be." She looked up at him, her eyes large and serious. "I don't claim to be all virtuous now. But this... It's over, and I no longer want a part of this life. There's nothing here for me any more."

Thorin pondered her reply for a moment. "What about your family, though? Your old friends?"

"I don't know. In Vigga's eyes I'm as good as dead. And the others..." Sigrun sighed. "They are so tied up in the Carta or whatever else they have chosen for themselves they can't even imagine a different life. Some of the younger ones, they might still have a chance in another place."

"Maybe we could help a few of them." Thorin gently kissed her cheek. "Voldrik and Dworkin will go back to the Keep soon. Those who want to leave could join them. I promise we'll find a way, my love. No one should live a life without hope."

"Thank you." She snuggled up closer to him. "Oh Ancestors, I'm so relieved you still want me, now that you know what it means to be nothing but a duster."

"How could you think I wouldn't want you any more?" His throat was tight with emotion. "Blight it, seeing all this, hearing your stories... It only makes me respect you more. To have lived through all this and come out of it the way you are... You are not _nothing but_ _a duster_. You're a Warden. You are Sigrun. You are the woman I love and you are amazing."

"So are you." She raised her lips to kiss him, and he closed his eyes, almost overcome with emotion. She was back in his arms, where she belonged, her body warm and safe in his embrace. Nothing else mattered.

 


	11. Skilled Hands

**Chapter 11 - Skilled Hands**

They had spent all morning browsing the market stalls in the wide square at the heart of the Commons. Occasionally Sigrun would sneak a look at Thorin, admiring his poise and the easy confidence he exuded. After three weeks in Orzammar, he was no longer the wide-eyed stranger, no longer overwhelmed by the crowds. Now the people in the streets respectfully made way for him as he walked through the city, every inch a proud warrior, a true nobleman.

He got along well with the nobles and deshyrs too, slowly making friends and forging alliances. Orzammar politics were an intricate web of intrigues and family feuds, some of them going back for generations. Many of the noble families had backed House Harrowmont for the succession and had been deeply shocked when King Bhelen had proceeded to effectively eliminate his opponent's family after his ascension. There were those who called him a tyrant behind his back.

Of course the other side was hardly more subtle in their methods. Just last week Sigrun had heard rumours of an assassination attempt against the king. And even among the nobles who were outwardly loyal, many were on the lookout for a champion who would challenge Bhelen successfully. It was a dangerous game, and deep down inside Sigrun feared they lacked the skill to play it.

She was ready to call it a day and head for their residence again, when Thorin took hold of her sleeve. "Wait. I have a surprise for you."

She raised an eyebrow, but followed him willingly as he led her toward Garin's stall, near the gates to the Diamond Quarter. She remembered the merchant from earlier visits, when they had admired his selection of crystals. Garin might be slightly lyrium-addled, but he definitely had an eye for special merchandise.

Nodding a greeting at the merchant, she threw a questioning glance at Thorin. "Your surprise?"

"Close your eyes." She felt his hands on her shoulders, then at the back of her neck as he struggled briefly with a fastening mechanism. "Now open them."

There was a silver chain around her neck, and on it the most beautiful pendant she had ever seen. A single large sapphire, blue as a quiet pool of water in the sunshine, was cut in the shape of a teardrop and surrounded by at least two dozen tiny diamonds.

Sigrun blanched. "Thorin! This must have cost a fortune. How-"

"Shhhh." He lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture. "On our last patrol we went down an abandoned mine. The darkspawn have no interest in gems, so there were plenty of raw stones lying about. I just had Garin cut and set them for me."

Slowly she let out the breath she'd been holding. "Still, you are mad. This is a jewel fit for a queen, not for a dus-" She caught herself just in time. "Not for a warden. It's far too grand for me."

He shook his head with a stubborn expression. "No. It's perfect for you. Look at it. It's the exact colour of your eyes."

She opened her mouth to protest some more, but when she saw the look in his eyes, she realized that this was not the time to be dogmatic. "Thank you." Her voice was shaking with emotion. "It's the loveliest present anyone has ever given me."

He smiled then, cradling her in his arms and reaching for the jewel, carefully lifting it so she could admire the way the light reflected in its deep blue surface. "Look at it. It's a flawless stone, not a single impurity, clear as spring water. It's almost as if it's shining with a light of its own."

She couldn't help but smile back at his enthusiasm. "I didn't know you were so fond of gems."

His expression changed, became almost rueful. "I used to be obsessed with treasure, back in my old life, far more than was good for me." He sighed. "It wasn't just greed, though, you know. I've always loved beautiful things, made by skilled hands and by cunning and by magic. And a gem like this, so naturally perfect, so masterfully cut, it's a rare marvel."

Thorin's eyes were flashing with passion, setting her insides aflutter. He felt so strongly about this jewel and he had chosen it as a gift for _her._ It was almost overwhelming.

"I want to get something for you too." She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I know. Let me choose a ring for you. Maybe we can find an enchanted one. This one over there, for example. It looks like a Lifegiver. They are fantastic in combat, help you heal much faster."

But to her surprise Thorin grew pale. "A magic ring? And you can buy it at a stall, just like that? Do you have any idea how dangerous they can be?"

She couldn't quite hide her bewilderment. "Dangerous? No, you've got this all wrong! There's all manner of useful enchantments. They can make you stronger, hardier, even more dexterous or more cunning." She laughed. "I've never heard of any harm caused by a ring."

Thorin shook his head. "I wish I could say the same. Don't you realize... An item of such power, it could easily bend its owner to its will. I've seen strong men and even dwarves succumb to the might of such cursed trinkets."

Sigrun shook her head impatiently. "Nugshit. Maybe that's how it is in _your_ world. Here, magic serves man, not the other way round." When she saw that she still hadn't convinced him, she groaned. "Think! If enchantments were that dangerous, your axe would have taken over your life a long time ago!"

He blushed, clearly embarrassed by her logic, and she relented. "Come on, love. Let me buy a ring for you. I'll feel much better knowing you have extra protection."

"Alright." Thorin still sounded gruff. "But you have to promise me to wear your pendant as well. It may not be magical, but-"

"I promise." She caught his gaze. _A different kind of magic._ "I understand."

* * *

Two days later they returned to the Commons, but this time they made straight for Janar Armourers to pick up new armoured boots for Sigrun. Her old ones had been badly damaged when she had accidentally stumbled into a lava channel a week ago. She still felt a rush of embarrassment when she recalled the incident. _You should think someone who grew up in this blighted city would know to avoid them._

Her new boots were a sheer pleasure to put on, though. A perfect fit, and gorgeous to look at too, made from bright red steel with an intricate inlay of fine copper wire. Janar was a true master of his craft. While she admired them, Thorin discussed techniques and materials with the smith, his face intent as he focussed on a topic dear to his heart.

"Ah, my lord, it is always a pleasure doing business with you." Janar beamed at him, wiping the sweat from his lined forehead. "There's not many noblemen who have such a grasp of smithing. One would almost think you've worked the forge yourself."

Thorin smiled. "But I have, my friend. Back when my house had fallen on hard times I trained as a smith with some of the finest masters of the craft. And I have always been glad I did. There's nothing like creating a fine piece of armour or a trusted weapon with your own hands." He sounded almost wistful.

Janar's smile became a tad uncertain. "There's not many nobles here in Orzammar who would admit to this, my lord. Most of them despise menial tasks."

Thorin snorted contemptuously. "It is hardly a menial task when it is performed with such skill and expertise, Master Janar. Your pieces are veritable works of art!"

"You honour me, my lord." The smith was visibly flattered. "Though it is true that my family has been part of the Smith caste for one hundred generations." A shadow briefly crossed his face. "It's a pity that no one will carry on the family name." Something seemed to occur to him. "Maybe you would... But I presume to much."

Thorin motioned for him to go on, and Janar spoke quickly, as if fearing a reprieve. "Maybe you would like to try your hand at the forge, my lord?"

Thorin hesitated briefly, but Sigrun could see the longing in his eyes. "If I could borrow your gear?"

She watched with growing fascination as he shrugged off his tunic and tied back his hair, then put on the leather apron and gloves and reached for the hammer and tongs. After a brief discussion with Janar, it was decided that he would work on a shield. Janar had already forged the basic shape and they quickly agreed on the details.

At a gesture from Janar, the boy working the bellows began his task and soon Thorin was hard at work. Sigrun couldn't take her eyes off him as he began to work the heated steel, his naked, strong arms glistening with sweat in the red light of the forge's fire. Avidly she watched the play of muscles in his back and shoulders as he raised the hammer and brought it down hard on the anvil, tiny sparks flying everywhere. He was utterly gorgeous like this, a living, breathing embodiment of strength and skill and focus. Gorgeous and breathtaking and hot enough to kindle a flame inside her that rivalled the forge's fire.

He worked steadily and without taking a break for almost an hour, then stepped back with a proud smile to let the smith inspect his handiwork. Janar ran a critical eye over the finished piece, then nodded, his face full of respect. " You have skilled hands, my lord. Whoever trained you did an excellent job." Without thinking he took Thorin's hand and shook it. "With your leave I'll put the finishing touches to it and have it sent to your residence." He wouldn't hear of any offer of payment.

Sigrun was glad when the door closed behind them. Thorin looked tired and sweaty, but happier than she had seen him in a long time. Suddenly she found that she couldn't wait to be home, alone in their quarters.

* * *

Thorin followed Sigrun to their room, enjoying the view as she bounced up the stairs in front of him. She seemed to be in quite a hurry and he allowed himself a brief smile. The way she had watched him down at Janar's hadn't been lost on him, admiring glances that became more and more heated the longer he worked. When the door closed behind them, he walked past her in the direction of the bathroom, peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiffening muscles there.

"Oh no, you won't." He raised his head in surprise at the sudden sharpness in her voice.

"What-"

She moved to intercept him, her eyes burning with intent. "You're not going to go off and have a nice long bath after that _performance_ , Thorin Oakenshield." Without taking her gaze off him, she began to unlace her tunic. "And don't tell me you didn't know what you were doing!"

He bit his cheek to fight back a laugh. "I may have had a vague idea."

She snorted as she pulled the garment over her head and tore impatiently at her breastband. "Don't give me that bullshit. You took your own sweet time _smithing_ and looking utterly delectable, leaving me to burn. If you hadn't stopped when you did, I would have dragged you out of the place."

Thorin felt his own breath quicken at the sight of her half naked body. Hurriedly he reached for the lacings of his pants. "Well, if I'd known that watching me work the forge would have such an effect on you, I might have done it a long time ago."

She stepped out of her pants and smallclothes with a dark look at him, and then she was in his arms, hot and willing. "Shut up."

It was just as well. The capacity to form words left him rapidly at the feel of her taut body against his. They didn't even make it over to the bed. Fortunately the rug covering the stone floor was thick and luscious, more than adequate for two people who were used to sleeping rough. Not that he would have cared at this point if it had been bare granite.

Sigrun's deft hands were all over him, caressing every inch of him, igniting sparks all over his skin. He did his best to return the favour, seeking out all the most sensitive spots on her body, the one just under her ear that made her sigh with lust when he gently teased it, the one on her lower back that made her arch into his touch when he rubbed it.

He was still sweaty and covered in soot from the smithy, but she didn't seem to care. In fact, she drank in his smell and taste, licking along his stomach, so close to where he wanted her most. He almost whined with frustration as she moved up again, but then her lips found his and he drowned in the sheer perfection of their kiss.

Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist almost of their own accord and suddenly he was inside her, all the way, deep inside her wet heat. It took all his control not to shatter right then; she felt so wonderful around him. Yet he was no untried boy, and a few deep breaths helped him regain his balance. When he pulled back, slowly and deliberately, she wiggled impatiently under him, urging him on. But he refused to be rushed, savouring every moment of knowing how much she wanted this, wanted _him_.

Over and over again he buried himself deep inside her, only gradually picking up speed. Sigrun soon ceased her struggle and matched his rhythm instead, all the while keeping her gaze firmly on his face, devouring him with her eyes. He watched her just as closely, the flush colouring her soft white skin pink, the tiny droplets of sweat on her forehead, the way her lips opened in silent abandonment. _So beautiful._

She was panting now, close to the edge, and he couldn't resist helping her along. Without breaking his rhythm, he held himself up on his right hand, letting the left trail down her stomach and between her legs, until he found what he was looking for. The faintest of touches was enough, as worked up and ready as she was. Within moments she bucked hard against him, her eyes wide with wonder as she cried her release, her whole body shuddering with lust.

He slowed down for a moment, intending to let her come down slowly from the height of ecstasy, but she wouldn't have it. Digging her heels deep into his back, she urged him wordlessly on, and he didn't hold back any longer. Abandoning all restraint, he lost himself in her, no longer aware of what he was doing, letting his body take over until there was nothing but the searing light of his climax, tearing through him with incredible intensity, almost like pain but so sweet he wanted to hold on to it forever.

"Maker." Sigrun was still trembling when he regained his wits. "That was..." She laughed giddily. "How is it possible that it is getting better every time when it was already perfect?"

He hid his face between her breasts, trying to catch his breath. "I don't know. But somehow it is."

He didn't want to let go of her, didn't want the moment to end. When they finally made their way to the bath and then over to their bed, they were both too exhausted to speak any more. But words were unnecessary anyway.

 


	12. A Question of Honour

**Chapter 12 - A Question of Honour**

"What's the matter, Voldrik?" Thorin felt a mild twinge of surprise, when he saw the stonemason waiting for him in the hall on his return from the Assembly Chamber.

The Glavonak brothers usually stuck to their workshops during the day, though they sometimes joined him and Sigrun in his study at night for a jug of ale and some friendly conversation. The latter was almost exclusively provided by Voldrik, his brother being mostly wrapped up in whatever curious invention his brain was currently busy with. 

"Dworkin and I are planning to leave Orzammar in two days." Voldrik didn't seem overly sad. "It was nice to see the old place again, but I'll be glad to return to the Vigil too. The dwarves down here, they are... a bit backward in their thinking, if you catch my meaning."

"I know exactly what you mean." Thorin sighed deeply. "We will miss having you around, Master Glavonak."

It was true. Of course they had always known Voldrik and his brother would leave eventually. Still, it would be sad to lose the few people they could talk openly to. There was no way they could trust any of their noble 'friends', who were all caught up in one intrigue or the other. A few days ago one of them had even approached Thorin with plans for a coup against the king. Of course he had declined to be involved, but even now he couldn't be sure whether it had been a genuine offer or a trap.

Yet the Glavonaks' departure also meant he could make good on his promise to Sigrun. "Before you leave here is a favour I need to ask from you." With a few concise sentences he outlined their plan to give some of the younger dwarves from Dust Town an opportunity to leave Orzammar and try their luck on the surface.

Voldrik seemed surprised at first, but then he nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "We'll have to be careful. We can't just walk out of here with a bunch of young dusters in tow. The authorities don't look all that kindly on people who give the casteless ideas _above their station_." He snorted contemptuously, making his opinion of the people in charge abundantly clear. "Anyway, if you can persuade some of them to sneak out on their own, they could meet us topside, at the Pass, and we'll take them to the Keep."

"That sounds like a good plan." Thorin suppressed a yawn. It had been a long day. "Sigrun and I will head down to Dust Town tomorrow and ask around."

"You do that." Voldrik's face was grim. "But you better be discreet. If word of this gets out, it won't do your reputation any good."

* * *

Sigrun had a hard time concealing her irritation. The young cousin she was talking to was the last in a long line of exasperatingly stubborn dwarves who refused to even consider a life on the surface. Some of them were plain superstitious and feared being sucked up into the sky the moment they stepped outside. But most of them just lacked initiative. Or maybe imagination. They accepted their circumstances as given. She couldn't count the number of times she had heard variations on the same theme today. _That's just the way things are. It's not so bad, really. Who knows if it would be better in another place?_

If it hadn't been for Thorin's calm, steady presence at her side, she would have given up long before. Only three youngsters had agreed to join the Glavonaks, two girls and a boy, all of them too honest to join the Carta and neither pretty nor strong enough to hope for a different way out. They would make good servants at the Keep, though, if they could muster the necessary discipline.

As she left yet another hovel without any success to report, she suddenly found herself face to face with the last person she wanted to see. "Ulf!"

He was angry, that much was obvious. "What are you doing here, Runa? Trying to show us the error of our ways?" He spit on the floor in disgust. "If we're no longer good enough for you, why don't you stay up there with your new friends in the Diamond Quarter and leave us scum down here alone?"

Sigrun took a deep breath. Ulf's words hurt, there was no denying it, but there was no way she was going to let him tell her what to do. "None of your business. I didn't ask _you_."

"Well, maybe I don't want to wait until you ask." He took a step closer, his hand going to his belt. "Maybe I don't want to see you around here any more."

Before she could answer, Thorin had already stepped in front of her, looming threateningly over Ulf's more compact frame. "And maybe what you want is not all that important."

"Stop it, both of you!" Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Look, I know you're both big, strong guys and all that, but can we please lay off the posturing?" She put a calming hand on Thorin's shoulder. "We were leaving anyway. Come on, Thorin. I'm tired of all this."

Ulf sneered contemptuously, but as she had expected he was too smart to risk an open confrontation here in the street. She turned to leave without another glance at him, but felt his gaze on her back all the way up to the Commons gates.

Back in their house, they headed straight for their room. They were both exhausted, physically as well as emotionally. Thorin sank down on their bed with a relieved grunt, leaning against the headboard and stretching his legs.

She curled up next to him, her head in his lap and looked up at him earnestly. "Thank you. This means a lot to me, you know. And you have no reason-"

"I may have more reason than you think." There was a darkness in his eyes that made her shiver. "Helping your friends and family... this is important to me as well. I only wish I could have done more for my own kin."

Sigrun looked up at him questioningly and he shook his head, pain written clearly across his face. "I never told you about my nephews. My sister's sons, Fili and Kili."

She sat up, instinctively reaching for his hand. "Tell me now."

He began to talk, hesitantly at first, then with more assurance, describing those two young dwarves she had never known and would never meet.

"They were such merry young lads, so bright and adventurous." Thorin's voice was full of love and pride. "Excellent scouts too, with sharp eyes and keen ears."

Sigrun listened intently as he told her about the two young men's exploits. She guessed without having been told that they had been close to him, almost like sons or younger brothers. She tried to imagine them, younger, more cheerful versions of her beloved, handsome and charming and full of life.

"They were such amazing fighters, both of them, and so full of courage, not afraid of anything." Thorin's voice choked on tears. "Too reckless, really."

When he told her of their end, their deaths in the battle that had nearly cost his own life, Sigrun had a hard time fighting back her own tears.

"They died to save me. Both of them." Thorin was openly sobbing now. "And it wasn't right. They should have lived, not I. They were hardly more than boys."

She held him in a tight embrace, gently stroking his back while he cried for them. "I'm glad you survived, love. But I wish I could have met them."

He nodded, clinging to her. "So do I."

* * *

Sigrun shuffled her feet uncomfortably as they waited to be admitted to the throne room for the royal reception. Once again she was glad for her Warden dress armour. It might be heavy and too warm, but it saved her the trouble of deciding what to wear for these occasions, and it guaranteed that, while people would notice her brand, no one would dare comment about it. Next to her Thorin stood as quietly as a rock. She envied his easy grace in dealing with their boring official duties. Tonight the king was celebrating the third anniversary of his ascension to the throne of Orzammar.

Finally their names were called and they entered the room side by side. She was surprised by the intensity of the applause that greeted them. Thorin had become very popular in the past few months, a welcome guest at evening entertainments of all kinds. Sigrun saw King Bhelen's face darken. _Shit, he's jealous._ It was a well-known fact that the king resented anyone getting more attention than himself. 

Not that it was a surprise. Thorin looked incredibly good tonight, his long, silky curls flowing down his back, the sky blue of his eyes and the few silver strands in his black hair matched by the armour's colours. _Gorgeous_! She was beginning to feel a sting herself as they advanced through the room and one young lady after the other was brought forward by her parents to be introduced to his Excellency the ambassador. Thorin greeted them all with equal friendly indifference, ignoring their awed looks, but Sigrun was beginning to seethe inside.

"What's the matter, darling?" Lilja had appeared at her side, linking her arm with hers and slapping her playfully with her fan. "Why so grim?"

"Is it that obvious?" Sigrun's frown deepened even further. "If one more vapid debutante flutters her eyelids at him, I'm going to do something I'll regret later."

Lilja gave her a surprised look, then laughed merrily. "You're jealous?" Fortunately she kept her voice down. "But Runa, why don't you get him to take off one of his vambraces?"

"What?" Sigrun realized her mouth was gaping and quickly shut it. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, darling." Lilja smiled indulgently. "It's some kind of noble code. If a man wears both vambraces, it indicates he is unmarried and eligible. He's practically asking for them to make a grab for him. And with all those rumours about his noble ancestry, of course the girls are eager."

"Shit." Sigrun shook her head in disbelief. "Who thinks of these things?" Secretly she was more than a little pleased that the hints she had dropped in the servants' presence about Thorin's noble parentage had made the rounds so quickly. Apparently quite a lot of Orzammar's noble families were progressive enough to consider a surfacer a good match for their precious daughters nowadays, provided he had some noble blood back in his lineage.  "Thanks for the warning, Lil."

"You're welcome." Lilja's face turned serious and she drew Sigrun aside to a little window niche. "Listen, there's one more thing." Looking around to make sure no one was listening, she leaned in closer. "Rica asked me to give you a message. Apparently she likes you. Well, anyway, according to her, Lord Gavorn isn't as well disposed toward the Wardens as he pretends to be. When your Commander was here during the Blight, a family heirloom of his was stolen. The Champion's Shield. Vartag is convinced the Wardens took it, and he hasn't forgiven that slight." She sighed. "Take care. The man has a lot of sway over the king."

"Thank you." Sigrun kissed Lilja's cheek. "You're a dear."

They parted before anyone could get suspicious and Sigrun made her way back to Thorin's side, relaying Lilja's warning in a whisper.

Thorin's eyebrow flew up. "Can it be true? Do you really think Megan stole his shield?"

Sigrun shrugged. "It's possible, certainly. What Megan wants, Megan gets, and if she took a fancy to it, she would have no scruples sneaking into his place and taking it."

Thorin inhaled deeply, barely able to hide his disapproval. "Well, I guess we ought to be grateful to the lady Rica, and to your friend Lilja. She took a risk in telling us, and even if I still don't like her much-"

"Thorin, please." _Not again!_ She looked at him pleadingly. "Please don't speak ill of Lilja. We used to be like sisters, you know. We did everything together."

"Yet you're nothing alike." He shook his head, incomprehension plain on his features.

Sigrun laughed softly to herself. "We were a good team. She was the beauty, and I was the tough one. I looked after us both, and in return she taught me all she knew about boys. Which was a lot." _She also found me a guy for my first time who actually knew what he was doing._ She'd better not regale Thorin with that particular story, though.

He ground his teeth. "You're at least as pretty as she is. Maybe you're not all dolled-up like her, but you're beautiful. More than you know."

Sigrun smiled, touched by the sincerity in his voice. "Oh, Thorin. You... Anyway, when Ulf and I got together, I think she hoped we'd get married. Then we would really have been sisters."

Thorin's face darkened. "If you hadn't had to leave, maybe-"

"I would have grown tired of him pretty quickly anyway. " Sigrun shook her head determinedly. "We were both far too young and stupid to make it work. And he-"

"Shhh." Thorin stopped her with a gesture.

Lady Dace was coming towards them, a resolute expression on her face. "Lord Thorin. I'm glad to see you here. There's a little matter of some... delicacy I would like to bring to your attention."

Sigrun took the hint when the lady threw her an icy look and stepped aside, melting into the background. She wondered idly what Lady Dace wanted from Thorin. Set him up with one of her daughters? Or maybe just invite him to dinner? Either way, Thorin would no doubt be able to handle the situation just fine on his own.

She found a quiet place in one of the window niches and watched as the party became more animated. At a signal from Rica, the musicians began to play and the dancing started, stiff, formal dances at first, the latest fashion from the surface. Sigrun snorted in amusement. Thorin had strategically placed himself next to the ancient Lord Meino, listening patiently to the old man's ramblings. _Clever of him. No one will expect him to desert the old geezer and join the dance._

King Bhelen had spared no expense and imported large quantities of honey mead instead of the usual lichen ale. It was certainly a lot tastier, Sigrun mused, and most of the company obviously enjoyed the treat. The atmosphere grew more and more relaxed, and soon the musicians reverted to more traditional songs and the dancing became more lively, and a lot more rustic. _This is more like it._ Sigrun grinned as she watched the noble ladies hitch up their skirts and gallop along the length of the dance floor.

Thorin seemed to agree. To her surprise, she saw him waltz by with Lady Helmi in his arms. The venerable old lady's face was flushed and she was smiling happily at something Thorin said.

When the dance stopped, he made his way over to her, slightly breathless, but in high spirits. "Sigrun! I haven't danced like this in years. Come on. Dance with me!"

She was spared finding an excuse by Vartag Gavorn who advanced toward them with a sneer. Judging from the high colour of his cheeks, he had already had more than enough of the mead.

"Your Excellency!" His speech was slightly blurred as well. "What a pleasure to see you. And I see you've brought your hot little duster whore as well."

There was a sudden, uncomfortable silence around them. Sigrun put a calming hand on Thorin's sleeve and felt him tense, the muscles in his arm tightening as if he was preparing for a fight. "Leave it be, Thorin. He's drunk, and trying to provoke you. It's not worth it."

Thorin exhaled slowly. "You're right." He gave Gavorn a flat, hard look. "I'm sure you will regret your words in the morning, my lord. Maybe it would be better if you turned in for the night?"

Gavorn's face darkened with rage. "Do not order me about like some low-caste peon! An exile like you, who is so ashamed of his family's fate that he won't even admit to his true name. Makes one wonder if you have any honour left at all."

Thorin didn't answer, but his hands balled into fists. Sigrun looked from one face to the other with growing apprehension. "Men!" she muttered under her breath. "Thorin, please. It's the mead speaking, you have to see that."

Thorin shook his head, obviously struggling to keep his calm. But Gavorn wasn't finished. "I'm sorry if I have offended you, your _Excellency_. Honoured _ambassador_. Ha! Who are those Grey Wardens anyway? I heard they accept everyone among them. And see? That's what you get. A bunch of thieves and whoresons, all the scum no one else wants, pretending to fight darkspawn when all they want-"

He had gone too far. Shaking off Sigrun's grasp, Thorin pulled back and allowed his rage free rein, his fist connecting with Gavorn's chin with a sickening crunch. The nobleman went down on the floor like a sack of wheat. Sigrun felt a flash of satisfaction, but it was short-lived.

Cursing and sputtering, Gavorn got up to his feet again, nursing a split lip. "You will regret this." He sounded remarkably less drunk now. "This challenge to my honour will not go unpunished."

He turned away from them and headed toward the king and his entourage. Bhelen had watched the whole scene from afar, his face unreadable.

Sigrun's mind was racing. This was bad. Why hadn't Bhelen stopped Gavorn before things got his far? And had the king's trusted, reliable lieutenant really been so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing? She found that hard to believe.

"Careful," she muttered under her breath. "This might get nasty very quickly."

Thorin snorted contemptuously. "If he wants a duel, let him come. I'm sure I can take him in a fight."

She shook her head. "You do realize he doesn't intend to fight you himself? You'll be up against a trained professional." Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of game is Bhelen playing?"

"Thorin Oakenshield!" That was the king's voice, calling them over.

Thorin took his time crossing the room, straight-backed and his head raised high. Sigrun felt her stomach go heavy with fear for him. What would happen now?

"Lord Thorin." Bhelen's face was grim. "You have disturbed the peace at one of my gatherings and attacked one of my most loyal followers. In view of the friendship I bear the noble order of the Grey Wardens, I'm willing to overlook your offence. But Lord Gavorn demands satisfaction. Do you agree to settle this unfortunate affair by way of an honour proving?"

Thorin nodded without saying a word. Sigrun stared at him open-mouthedly. Why didn't he defend himself? Why didn't he point out that Gavorn had provoked him? But then she realized how pointless that would be. Whatever had been going on here, there was no doubt whose side Bhelen would take.

"Name your champion, Lord Gavorn." Bhelen looked at his lieutenant expectantly.

Gavorn raised his chin defiantly. "I name Piotin Aeducan as my champion."

An awed whisper travelled around the room. _Piotin Aeducan._ Sigrun vaguely remembered the name. A hero of the Proving Arena, a veteran of many fights. Also, coincidentally the king's own cousin.

"And you, Lord Thorin?" Now the room was utterly silent.

Thorin smiled a slow dangerous smile. "I don't need a champion, your Majesty. I will fight on my own behalf."


	13. Confrontations

**Chapter 13 - Confrontations**

The Proving Arena was crowded, every last seat taken. Chewing on her nails, Sigrun watched the bustle from her seat just slightly to the left of the dais raised for the king's entourage. Of course she hadn't been invited up there, but she actually preferred sitting here, next to Lilja at the back of House Vollney's comfortable box. They had a good view of the arena, while being almost invisible themselves. _Perfect._

All around her, people looked happily excited, chatting with their neighbours and munching on snacks. Looking at them only made her own stomach clench harder in fear and apprehension. She had left Thorin with the Proving Armsman an hour ago. He had seemed calm and relaxed, almost cheerful. Some small part of her suspected he was actually looking forward to the proving. The diplomatic subtleties of the past few weeks had tried his patience considerably, and a good, clean fight would be a relief for him.

 _That's assuming there will be a clean fight._ Sigrun didn't trust the nobles of Orzammar as far as she could throw them. Yet manipulating a proving was no easy undertaking. This was a serious business. Quite apart from the strict rules ordered by tradition and honour, the crowds would be up in arms against any suggestion of cheating, since many of them had placed high bets on the winner.

And Piotin, despite being Bhelen's kinsman, had a reputation as an honourable fighter. Sigrun had asked around among the fighters and hangers-on, eager for some kind of reassurance, something to give her hope. They all agreed he was a true champion, a force of nature, his prowess with the two-handed axe almost unmatched and his many victories well-deserved. Not that this boded well for Thorin who had little to no experience with this kind of fight. If Piotin-

Sigrun was so busy painting horribly scenarios in her mind that she almost missed the moment when the Proving Master announced the fight. Next to her Lilja squirmed excitedly in her seat as the Honour Proving was called. Dimly she was aware of the Proving Master's words _... a fight to restore the honour of Lord Gavorn and to settle his dispute with Lord Thorin Oakenshield... May the Ancestors show their favour to the most deserving warrior..._

And there was Thorin, down in the arena, magnificent in his Dragonbone Armour, no fancy Warden Blues this time. Next to him Piotin raised his arms to the thunderous applause of the crowd as the Master recited his many titles and achievements ... _the horns of the king's army ... the undisputed master of the final blow ... more decapitations in one season than any other fighter before him ..._ Sigrun's throat tightened. Would Thorin stand a chance against him?

She knew her beloved was a masterful fighter, and he had the added advantage of Warden stamina and resilience, but even so she feared for his life, knowing what he was up against. With a frown she remembered their heated discussions during the past few days. She still couldn't believe his rashness in accepting Gavorn's challenge, in taking the fight on himself. It was far from unusual for a Proving to end with the death of one participant, but even if Piotin spared him, there was no telling what the king would decide. Yes, she trusted him and believed in his fighting prowess. But to have his fate, both their fates, resting on the outcome of this duel...

Just then he looked up and his eyes found her, and the look he gave her was so intense, so _smouldering_ that she actually gasped. It was as if there was no one else around, just the two of them, the distance between them rendered meaningless by the sheer heat of his gaze. And then he smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that she so adored and turned to face his opponent. The crowd fell silent.

Piotin's expression was grim as he shoved his helmet down over his bullet-shaped head and raised his axe. He was quite a bit shorter than Thorin, but built like a bronto, with massive shoulders and arms like logs. He swung the heavy two-hander as if it was a toy. Thorin carried a shield with the Warden insignia, and his trusted war axe, which seemed small in comparison to Piotin's weapon. Yet Sigrun had seen him deal a deadly blow against an attacking hurlock alpha with it.

The two warriors circled each other slowly, with nothing more than the occasional feint, looking for weaknesses in their opponent's defence.

"Ooooh, isn't this exciting?" Lilja was breathing fast next to her. "I love that moment just before the first blow. So much unresolved tension. So much pent-up aggression and strength."

Sigrun glanced at her with a crooked grin. "You make it sound like sex."

Lilja shrugged. "Well, why do you think Provings are so popular with the ladies?" She pointed to a row of young noblewomen seated a little to the side of them, their mouths half open in fascinated awe as they watched the fighters. "There's nothing hotter than watching a champion unleash his power. Trust me, even Piotin, ugly as he is, will have his pick of willing lovers tonight."

"Are you so sure he will win?" Sigrun ground her teeth.

Lilja blushed. "Oh sorry, darling, I didn't mean to... But surely you realize the odds are stacked a little unevenly in this match. Besides-"

She was interrupted by a roaring cheer from the crowd as Piotin lunged forward and landed a heavy blow with his axe on Thorin's shield. The metal creaked under the impact and Thorin staggered for a moment, but he recovered, dancing out of reach on nimble feet. Piotin pressed forward, trying to use his advantage. But Thorin moved fast, too fast for him and swivelled past him to strike hard against his flank. The blow was deflected by Piotin's armour, glancing harmlessly off the heavy plate.

The fight picked up speed now, their attacks following each other in quick succession, both of them eager to finish it soon. It was obvious that they were evenly matched, with Thorin's greater speed and agility making up for Piotin's superior strength and experience. They were both beginning to tire a little, yet none of them had actually managed to injure the other so far.

Sigrun's fists were clenched so tightly that her nails, short as they were, dug deeply into her palms. Everyone was staring at the fighters now, the audience's attention fully focussed on their deadly struggle, not a single sound audible except for the clash of steel on steel and the heavy panting of the combatants.

A quick feint and Thorin was suddenly right next to Piotin, his axe cutting deep into his opponent's unprotected upper left arm. There was a cry of dismay from Piotin's supporters. Blood gashed from the wound, drenching the sand of the arena red. Piotin swayed for a moment and the crowd gazed at Thorin with new respect.

Sigrun had jumped up, but her shout of triumph died on her lips as the warrior threw back his head with a mighty roar, a furious gleam appearing in his eyes. _Shit. He's a berserker. I nearly forgot._ Sigrun watched in helpless awe as Piotin shook off the blood with a mad grin and raised his axe with renewed strength, charging toward Thorin. The giant blade missed his head only by inches, burying itself deep into the wall of the arena, which bought Thorin precious seconds to whirl away and take up his fighting stance again. Piotin yanked it free without any apparent effort and turned to charge again.

The crowd went nearly mad with excitement as he rushed toward Thorin. Sigrun forced herself to keep her eyes open even as she feared what she would see next. Thorin stood calmly as Piotin stormed in his direction, his stance confident and his eyes clear and courageous. Sigrun bit back a sob. _Oh Ancestors, please! Don't let this be the last time I see him like this!_

Piotin roared his rage at him as he raised the axe for what was going to be the final blow, aiming for Thorin's neck, but he clearly hadn't expected his opponent's next move. Sidestepping him neatly at the very last moment, Thorin used Piotin's own momentum to send him toppling to the ground with his shield, straddling him in one smooth move and pressing the blade of his axe against Piotin's throat.

The silence in the arena was almost deafening. Sigrun spared a look up at the king's box. King Bhelen's lips were set in a thin line, his stare grim. Next to him Vartag Gavorn was fuming with anger. Yet there was nothing either of them could do, not when everyone had seen Thorin fairly win the fight.

Piotin's voice rang out, rough and strained. "You have bested me, Warden. My life is yours to take."

Thorin nodded and slowly raised his axe.

Lilja almost squeaked with excitement. "Oh Ancestors, he's going to kill him."

The crowd seemed to hold its breath. Bhelen's hands were clenched tightly around the armrests of his throne.

Thorin's axe came down with a heavy thud, burying itself in the sand next to Piotin's head. There was a collective sigh of relief.

Thorin jumped up and extended his hand to help Piotin to his feet. "Raise, Lord Aeducan. It's been an honour to fight you."

Piotin's answer was lost in the almost hysterical cheers of the audience. As the two warriors left the arena, side by side, Sigrun glanced up at the royal box again. King Bhelen was gone. The fight was over and Thorin was safe and sound. Yet for a moment her stomach tightened in renewed apprehension.

* * *

Sigrun studied the chessboard, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. They had had to break off their game late last night, and she was determined to beat Thorin once he returned from his daily duties and they resumed playing. Now if she moved her knight over there-

"Really, honey, playing chess? Is that all you and your ambassador friend are up to at night? No wonder you look so tense." She whirled around to find Ulf standing just inside the study door, a sneer on his handsome face

"Ulf! How did you get in here? I'm sure the doors-" Her lips grew thin. "Ah, forget it." Her hand went smoothly to her belt. He didn't have time to react before her throwing knife buried itself deep into the wooden panel of the door behind him, missing his face by a hair's breadth.

He blanched, unable to hide his gasp, but then his eyes took on a gleam she knew all to well. _Shit._ She should have known this would turn him on. Ulf had always been attracted to danger.

Being a few years older than Lilja and her, he had ignored her for the longest time. She'd been that scrawny kid that hung around with his baby sister, nothing more. Until Beraht had sent them on a break-in together and he had seen her fight with her daggers, up against two heavily armed guards who hadn't stood a chance. That had been the exact moment when the look in his eyes had changed from bored indifference to heated desire.

Desire was the last thing Sigrun wanted from him right now. "You're not welcome here, Ulf! Get out. I told you I have nothing to say to you any more!"

"Will you at least let me talk?" Ulf shook his head, but he seemed more amused than angry. "I have important news for you. A warning, if you will."

"Speak, then." She was still wary. What could be his motive in coming to see her?

Yet he sounded sincere. "You have powerful enemies. Someone has been asking around for help in getting rid of your ambassador friend and you. A certain well-connected someone, with contacts high up. _Very_ high up."

Sigrun swallowed. It was no secret how these things were arranged in Orzammar. For all their contempt for the casteless, the noble lords and ladies had few qualms about availing themselves of their services when needed. Just over a week ago, another group of assassins had tried to attack King Bhelen right outside his palace, and two of his bodyguards had died. And of course the king himself was not above using Carta assassins to get rid of his political opponents or anyone else he perceived as a threat.

"They are planning to attack you on your way to the market, early in the morning. Take care, Runa." Ulf had grown serious. "I don't want you to die."

She nodded. "Thank you. I guess."

"You're welcome." His cocky grin was back in place. "Well? Don't I get a kiss for my trouble?"

Sigrun snorted contemptuously. "Not a chance."

He leant back against the door, folding his arms across his wide chest, his cool grey eyes roving insolently up and down her body. "You know what I think? You don't trust yourself. You know that once you kiss me, you won't be able to say no."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dream on, Ulf." Though there was no denying he looked good in the black armour, tough and strong and dangerous.

"Come on, admit it. Just like the old times." He made a suggestive gesture. "Remember the break-in at Lord Dace's place? And the back alley afterwards?"

 _Blight it!_ Sigrun glanced down at her feet as the memory hit her. _Ulf taking her hard against the back wall of an abandoned palace, his lips hot on her throat, his cock thick and heavy inside her..._

Looking up, she saw his triumphant expression. "See? You do remember." He took a careful step toward her. "It's such a pity you had to leave. We would have been so _good_ together!"

But she shook her head vigorously, holding out her hand to keep him at a distance. "No. I won't deny the sex was good-"

"More than good." His eyes had darkened to a stormy grey. "Spectacular."

"Alright, spectacular." She conceded his point with a shrug. It was true enough. For four turbulent months they had been all over each other. Four months of wild adventures, passionate quarrels, frantic couplings. "But we would have torn each other to pieces sooner or later. You may not choose to remember our fights, but I do. And anyway, it's over. It's been over for a long time."

Ulf gave her one last searching look, to see if she was serious, then he sighed dramatically. "Well, I guess that's it then. Bye, honey. I'll miss you."

"Get out." Sigrun motioned toward the door. "And thanks for the heads-up. I appreciate it."

When he had left, she exhaled slowly and tremulously. She hadn't even realized she had been holding her breath.

She had just returned to the chess table, when the door burst open and Thorin appeared, flushed and agitated. "There's been another assassination attempt. Bhelen just barely escaped with his life. And he has dissolved the Assembly."

 


	14. Machinations

**Chapter 14 - Machinations**

"What do you mean, dissolved the Assembly?" Sigrun stared at Thorin uncomprehendingly. "He can't just-"

"Apparently Bhelen thinks he can." Thorin's face was grim. "Gavorn announced it this morning. There will be no more Assembly meetings. The deshyrs are under house arrest and forbidden to speak in public or to assemble in private. Any opposition to the King's rule is going to be regarded as treasonous and 'punished accordingly'." His hands balled into fists. "They think they have everything under control. But I am not going to stand for this."

"What can you do?" Sigrun felt the blood leave her face at his words. "If all the deshyrs and their political clout couldn't prevent this from happening, what could _you_ possibly achieve?"

He walked over to his desk, reaching for a sheet of paper and a quill. "I don't know. Maybe not a lot. But I am going to lodge an official protest in the name of the Grey Wardens."

"What?" Sigrun wasn't sure she'd heard right. "In all probability the only thing you'll achieve is provoking Bhelen. I don't think he is all that concerned with the opinions of outsiders, for all of his pretty words about _honoured guests and allies_."

"I don't care." Thorin's lips were set in a grim line. "Even if he ignores my letter, at least I will know I haven't stood by and watched it all without even making an attempt to change it."

Sigrun nodded slowly. "So you'd risk our lives just to make a point. Is that wise? Bhelen is very dangerous, love. And let's face it…" Thoughtfully, she played with a strand of her own hair. " Can you even do that? Speak for all Wardens? I mean, yes, you're the ambassador and all, but from what I've heard of the First Warden, he might actually approve of all this. The Assembly was blocking some long overdue reforms. It might even turn out to be in the Wardens' best interest if he rules alone."

Thorin shook his head decisively. "No, Sigrun. Bhelen can't be allowed to go unchecked. He has already been behaving more like a tyrant than a king. With no Assembly to rein him in, who is going to hold him accountable? Who is going to stop him if he decides someone has to die or if he leads the dwarves into a war of aggression?" He took a deep breath. "He is not fit to be king. It's time _someone_ stood up to him. And I won't be intimidated by his threats."

Sigrun watched him with growing apprehension as he stood at the desk, writing his formal letter to the king. His shoulders were tense and he was attacking the paper with barely suppressed fury. _He is not fit to be king._ Dangerous words, and spoken in a place where they could easily be overheard. If word of this reached Bhelen's ears, they would be in serious trouble, and she very much doubted anyone would stick their neck out to help them. Sigrun sighed. Much as she shared Thorin's feelings in principle, she was worried. Very worried.

* * *

Lilja was admiring herself in the floor length mirror, checking out the fit of her dark blue dress with a satisfied smile. Getting dressed up for an evening out in Orzammar's noble society was a lengthy business and required lots of care and attention to detail. Sigrun enjoyed keeping her company, fascinated by the process of transformation, even if she didn't have a clue about the finer points of dwarven fashion.

She watched her friend fondly, reminded of countless similar afternoons they'd spent together as girls. "You haven’t changed a bit, you know."

"You think?" Lilja threw her a shrewd glance. "Wish it was true." She inspected her face critically, reaching for her jar of make-up.

"I didn't mean your looks." Sigrun shrugged. "Though you're still as lovely as you used to be," she hastily corrected herself at the sight of Lilja's offended frown. "No, I just meant… It's such a relief that we're still friends. That you still enjoy my company."

Lilja didn't answer straight away, busying herself with dabbing more perfume behind her ears and on her wrists. When she responded, she kept her face averted and her voice carefully neutral. "You're mad at Ulf."

"Not so much mad." Sigrun sighed, jumping up from her seat to help Lilja with the complicated fastening of her necklace. "Just… I'm not in love with him anymore, Lil. I just wish he would understand and keep his distance. I have Thorin now. And Ulf is no longer-"

"Ulf is what he's always been. _He's_ not the one who's changed." Lilja caught her gaze in the mirror, her lips pressed into a thin line. "And your Thorin isn't perfect either, for all his good looks and charm."

"I never said he was." Sigrun took a deep breath, making an effort to stay calm. "Far from it. He's stubborn and thick-headed and rash and-"

"And you love him very much." Lilja's features softened and she smiled at her, more than a little wistfully. "It's obvious to anyone with eyes, Runa. And I wish you all the happiness in the world, you know that. But you need to talk some sense into your man. That letter he wrote to the King-"

"How do you know about that?" Sigrun felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.

"Everyone knows." Lilja shook her head. "What did you expect? It wasn't a private note but part of Bhelen's formal correspondence. That means it went through the hands of several high-ranking officials, not to mention their scribes and messengers. Did you honestly think half of Orzammar wouldn't know about it the moment the letter arrived at the palace?"

Sigrun flinched. "Blight it. I told Thorin it was dangerous."

" _Dangerous_ doesn't come close, sweetheart. I bet Lord Gavorn had a field day with this." Lilja turned around and gently stroked her cheek, a serious expression in her bright blue eyes. "Please be careful, Runa. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe if he apologizes and withdraws his protest-"

"He won't." Sigrun wearily rubbed her eyes. "Never. Not as long as he's convinced he's in the right. Oh nugshit, what can I do, Lilja?"

She looked down at her nails, bitten almost to the quick by now. If she was honest, Lilja's warning didn't come as a big surprise. In the three days that had passed since Thorin had written that message, she had noticed numerous glances in their direction whenever they left the house. Some of them had been calculating, some just plain curious - and a lot of them almost pitying. Her stomach clenched in apprehension. They might have survived the Proving. But they were really far from safe.

Yet when she mentioned their conversation and Lilja's warning to Thorin later that night, he laughed it off. "You worry too much, love. Yes, everyone knows about that letter. That's precisely why we're as safe as we can be. The king can't afford to make an official move against the Wardens now without provoking even more resistance." He shrugged off his heavy fur cape and embraced her tightly. "It's just a power game. Lots of nobles have accosted me in the past few days, telling me how much they appreciated my clear stance. And I believe the King actually respects me for it. He's been nothing but polite. In fact, he has invited us to join him on his monthly bronto hunt tomorrow."

Sigrun leaned into his touch, feeling far from reassured by his words. She knew Thorin had more experience with courtly power struggles than she did, but did he really understand the realities of Orzammar? From what he'd told her of his world, things were handled a lot differently there, and deep down inside she feared his judgment was clouded by his past. He was so honourable himself. Could he even begin to fathom what a ruthless man like Bhelen was capable of?

And yet, maybe he was right. What would she know about the way nobles saw the world? Smiling up at him, she swallowed her misgivings. "A bronto hunt? Whatever else will they come up with next? Manicured pet nugs?"

She felt the deep rumble of his laugh as he pressed her against his chest. "I wouldn't be surprised. But come now. We need to be up early tomorrow. Let's go to bed and get some sleep while we can. And who knows, maybe it will even be fun."

Sigrun nodded tiredly, following him into their bedroom. _Let's hope you're right._ She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Thorin awoke slowly, fighting his way back to consciousness against a heavy fog. His head hurt like hell, but at the same time it felt oddly light. _What-_

"Ah, they are awake." Gavorn's voice, full of spite and smug satisfaction. "Well, Lord Thorin? I trust you're well rested."

Suddenly he was wide awake. He was in some sort of cave, dark and musty, the walls roughly hewn. _An old mine._ Next to him, he felt Sigrun stir, groaning as she tried to open her eyes. She was wearing nothing but a shift, he saw, and he was clad in the thin linen pants he usually wore for the night. The clothes they had gone to bed in last night. And his hair felt all wrong, the air on his neck too cool... _The bastards have cut off my hair! But that's-_ Involuntarily he tried to raise his hands to check, but found he couldn't lift them. Both he and Sigrun were bound tightly with leather straps around their wrists and ankles. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach.

Gavorn laughed again. "Didn't expect that, did you? But his Majesty won't put up with you and your schemes any longer."

At a gesture from Gavorn, two heavily armed thugs appeared and dragged them to their feet. Thorin's aching head was still struggling to make sense of the situation. _They must have drugged us, brought us here while we were unconscious. But why?_ Their guards led them over to where King Bhelen was seated on a large boulder. With a well-placed kick to their legs, they forced them to kneel before the king.

Bhelen sneered at Thorin, his face distorted with hatred. "Ha! Down on your knees you don't look so tall."

Thorin forced himself to remain calm. "What is the meaning of this charade, your Majesty? I can't think of any reason that would justify your treatment of us."

The king raised his chin, his brow furrowed with rage. "Can't you? Don't think I haven't noticed what game you've been playing, Thorin Oakenshield. Challenging my authority at every step, befriending my political opponents, making yourself popular with the craftsmen and the warriors. Even trying to gain the support of the casteless, all in order to strengthen your position." The king's face took on an even uglier expression. "The Lord Shaper couldn't find anything about your family in the records. It takes a lot of influence to hide your trail so well. Who are you really, Lord Thorin? Where do you come from and which family is behind your plot to overthrow me?"

_Maker! The man is insane!_ Thorin threw Bhelen a dark look, his hands twitching in their bonds. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you where I come from. And there is no plot."

"There isn't?" Bhelen rose to his feet, raising a threatening fist. "Since you came here four attempts have been made on my life. _Four_! Do you honestly expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?"

Thorin snorted contemptuously. "Those attempts have nothing to do with me and everything with your own decisions. Let us go, your Majesty. You can banish us from our city, if you so wish, but apart from that you have no authority over us Wardens."

The king smiled a cold, serpentine smile. "No _formal_ authority, maybe, Lord Thorin, but this is Orzammar and my will is law here." He stepped closer, until his nose was almost touching Thorin's. His eyes were gleaming viciously, and his lips were set in a thin line. "The two of you will die down here in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn will find you and take care of you soon enough. And your charming Warden Commander will be grieved to learn that the two of you got trapped in a sudden cave-in while out hunting with me and my court. Such a pity, really."

_Blight it._ Thorin held his breath as the king turned and walked away without a single glance back at them. Bhelen was a lot more ruthless than he had expected. His mind was working feverishly. If they had to stay behind like this, bound and all but naked, all their Warden powers wouldn't help them. Even a pack of deepstalkers could finish them off.

One by one the king's henchmen followed their master into the maze of tunnels. The cave had almost emptied, when one of them turned and came back toward them.

"I'm going to check their bonds again. I don't trust those Duster hirelings to tie a proper knot." The rough voice was unmistakable. _Piotin._

Thorin shook his head in disappointment. He had thought the fighter a man of honour and hadn't expected him to be part of such a cowardly undertaking. Piotin knelt at their side with a disapproving grunt and reached for the straps around their wrists.

"Quiet." Thorin nearly froze when the man's hoarse whisper reached his ear. To his surprise, Piotin loosened the ties a little, just enough for them to be able to wriggle free on their own.  "There's a cache with supplies down that tunnel over there." Piotin spat on the floor, adding a noisy curse for the benefit of any listeners before he whispered again in his ear. "This is no way to treat a fighter like you, Thorin. But I'm taking a huge risk. If Bhelen ever finds out..." He got up, kicking them for good measure. "Make it count!"

Sigrun nodded almost imperceptibly. They both kept carefully still until the last of the armoured footsteps had died off in the distance. Silence fell around them. They were alone.

        

 


	15. Stone's Greetings

**Chapter 15 - Stone's Greetings**

It had taken them a while to free themselves from their shackles, but the cache had been easy to find and contained all they would need to make their way back to Vigil's Keep: armour, weapons, assorted provisions. There was even a small pouch with their personal belongings, and Sigrun was overjoyed to find her sapphire pendant and Thorin's ring among them.

In the beginning they just tried to get as far away from Orzammar and Bhelen's thugs as they possibly could. Though it seemed likely that even if someone detected their absence they would just let them go, assuming that without armour or provisions they would meet their end soon enough. Still, prudence demanded that they set a brisk pace, so it was many hours until they finally made camp.

They found a small alcove to the side of the road, probably some sort of former storage room for the maintenance crews. It was tiny and cramped, but there was enough room for a small fire and both their bedrolls, and they were safely out of sight while having a good view of the road themselves.

Still, it was a lonely and eerie place. It occurred to Sigrun that she had never spent a night down here with fewer than three people for company, not in her days with the Legion and not with the Wardens either. She shuddered. It was not a nice feeling. If anything happened to Thorin, she'd be all alone.

Thorin must have felt her discomfort, for as soon as they had got their fire going, he pulled her close and began to sing for her. He kept his voice down, but even so it was wonderfully rich and sonorous, deep and seductive. The tune was sweet, if a little melancholy.

But as she listened more closely to the words, she shook her head in irritation.

" _We must away, ere break of day, to claim our long-forgotten gold_ -" He broke off and looked at her questioningly.

"What kind of song is this?" She turned to face him. "It's beautiful, but it seems to be all about... gold?"

Thorin chuckled, blushing slightly. "I told you gold and glory and treasure used to be all I cared about. But let me finish it, it's really quite lovely." He cleared his throat and continued. " _Goblets they carved there for themselves_..."

She curled up in his lap, looking up at him and admiring his profile outlined against the cave wall in the dim light of the campfire. He looked different with the shorter hair. Not necessarily less attractive, but it would take some getting used to.

" _We must away, ere break of day, to win our harps and gold from him_." When he finished, she reached up to stroke the nape of his neck, where a few short curls were all that was left of the flowing mane she had admired so much.

"I miss your hair." _Though those tiny curls are rather cute._

His face darkened. "I will never forgive Bhelen. Of all the things he could have done to humiliate me..." Thorin swallowed hard. "I feel naked. Exposed."

"You'll get used to it. And it will grow again in no time at all." Her hand followed his jaw, stroking his short, well-kept beard. "I've always wondered... Why did you wear your hair long and your beard short?"

"My beard used to be as long as my hair." Thorin smiled at the memory.

Sigrun tried to imagine him with a long beard, all the way down to his waist, like his hair had been, but failed miserably.

"I cut it off many years ago as a symbol of mourning. Back when my family lost their home. It seemed fitting. For many years we were wanderers, homeless and desperate. I swore I wouldn't let it grow again before we retook the Lonely Mountain. And now..." He gave her a rueful smile, stroking his chin. "I have to admit I've gotten used to it. Keeping it short is so much more practical. Still, my ancestors would probably despise me. Durin's folk are commonly called the Longbeards."

Sigrun grinned, tickled by this piece of information. "Well, I'm sure you _could_ grow a longer beard again if you wanted to. After all, no one could possibly doubt your manliness." _And I'm going to show you exactly how much I appreciate that fact._

Sitting up, she straddled him and let her hands trail along his body, all the way down to his crotch. When she pushed his mail tunic up and began to fiddle with the laces of his leggings, he stopped her with a tight grip around her wrist. "What do you think you're doing there?"

Sigrun grinned cheekily. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"Stop it." He gazed at her sternly. "Remember our first patrol? I won't make the same mistake twice. I'm never taking off my armour in the Deep Roads again!"

"Oh come on." She pouted. "We would sense any darkspawn long before they're here. Besides..." Her pout turned into a suggestive smile. "What I have in mind doesn't actually require you to take off your armour."

Thorin inhaled sharply at her words, his blue eyes fixing her intently. _Maker, that look of his! He could probably get me off just by staring at me like this! No need to undress me either_. Sigrun bit back a moan and slithered down between his thighs.

He had let go of her hands and she made short work of the lacings. His cock sprang into her hand, rock hard already and she licked her lips as she stroked him firmly, up and down, looking up to gauge his reaction. His eyes were half-closed, but still focussed on her.

With a cheery wink at him she bent down and licked all along the length of him. He made no noise, but his right hand settled on her shoulder, and his grip tightened as she increased the pressure, savouring the salty tang of his skin. _Delicious._ She had never particularly enjoyed this with any other man, but with Thorin, she couldn't get enough of his taste, his scent, the way his body responded as she teased and tormented him.

Glancing up she met his eyes and took him between her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked gently. A strangled cry escaped him, but he kept perfectly still. She twirled her tongue around him, enjoying the shudder running through him, then sucked again, a little harder. His broken moan told her all she needed to know.

Inhaling deeply, she took him in as deep as she could, then moved back inch by careful inch until she could breathe again. Thorin had completely abandoned himself to her now. His eyes were firmly closed, and his breath was coming in quick, hard gasps. With a smile she took another deep breath, then repeated the procedure until his hold on her shoulder became almost painful.

He was close now, so very close, the muscles in his thighs taut as ropes. One last time she sank down, and this time she sucked hard on the way back, pressing her tongue against his most sensitive spot, right below the crown. Thorin cried out in earnest, going rigid below her as he came into her willing mouth. She swallowed automatically, tasting him with relish, suckling every last drop from him, drawing out his pleasure for as long as she could.

Thorin was still panting by the time she had tucked him away again, snuggling up against his broad chest, but his hands were already busy all over her body, finding chinks in her armour, seeking out every bit of exposed skin. Somehow those quick, furtive touches excited her even more than subtler caresses would have. The urgency, the rawness of it all sent shivers all over her.

His hand pressed down hard between her legs and she literally saw stars, gasping into his mouth. Somehow he managed to work his hand into her leather pants without taking them off, just loosening the lacings a little. She was wet and eager from the thrill of pleasuring him, and his fingers slid easily between her slick folds. Her next moan was too loud to be contained by his lips. He had hardly enough room to move, but he worked his hand against her heat with such deftness that it took hardly any time at all until a sharp stab of pleasure made her cry out and clench around his fingers.

Withdrawing his hand, Thorin cast about for something to wipe it on, his expression almost comically embarrassed. On impulse she grabbed his hand and pulled it into her mouth to lick it clean. She had never done such a thing before, but it was exciting, tasting herself on him, and the expression in his eyes was totally worth it.

"Sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours." His voice was deep and warm and tender and she happily dozed off in his arms. Sigrun's final thought before she fell asleep left her with a smug smile on her face. _I bet I've made you forget about the hair._

* * *

"Blight it! I wish I knew what this wiggly one means!" Sigrun tried as hard as she could to decipher the runes carved into the crossroads signpost. Most of them were familiar, but two or three of them she had never seen in her life. She sighed deeply.

"Shhh, love. Just take your time and focus. You've been doing so well so far." Thorin did his best to sound patient, and she threw him an affectionate look. It had to be hard for him, with so little he could do to help.

For the first few days, as long as they had been close to Orzammar, finding their way had been easy. She'd been all around those tunnels during her time with the Legion, and despite what rumour said about surface dwarves, her stone sense was perfectly intact. She knew instinctively which direction they had to take in order to get back to the tunnels below Amaranthine, back to Vigil's Keep. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Thorin. He would have been completely lost without her help.

In a way she had enjoyed being the one in charge, if she was quite honest. But two days ago the road they'd been following had turned out to be blocked by a massive cave-in. They had tried to circumvent it, but every single side tunnel had ended in solid rock walls. There was nothing for it but to find a staircase that took them deeper, in the hope of finding a clear route further down. She had a bad feeling about it, though.

Down here, the walls were covered in a foul-smelling, oily substance that was only too familiar. The taint. It had crept into the very stone here. And surely it was only a question of time until their presence attracted the nearest darkspawn.

"It's no use." Sigrun kicked the foot of the pillar in frustration. "I can't make sense of this. I can tell that the eastern road will take us too far south, but there's no telling if we'll be able to get through further north."

Thorin inspected the walls at the intersection with a worried frown. "The northern route seems to be more strongly tainted. I don't particularly fancy the idea of going up there."

She nodded. "True. Still, if we go to south-east, it might take us weeks longer. And the sooner we get out of here-"

As if on cue he swivelled around, grabbing his axe. And she felt it too. Darkspawn. Not many, from the feel of it, but they had to be careful. With no healer and without their familiar weapons and armour, they were far more vulnerable than normally.

"We need to find cover." Thorin's jaw was tense. "Quick."

A little way ahead on the northern road, Sigrun could make out the remnants of an old way station. Dragging him with her, she made for the ruins.

When the monsters showed up, she breathed a sigh of relief. Five genlocks, none of them an alpha or an emissary, two armed with bows and three with axes. Not a serious problem for two trained Wardens. They waited with bated breath until all enemies were clearly visible, then she nodded at Thorin.

Her throwing knives took out both archers before they could even raise their bows. Thorin jumped to the front with a taunting battle cry, waiting for the axe-fighters to charge, taking care to keep his back to the wall. She smiled when the genlocks fell for it, all three of them hurling themselves at him, ignoring her presence. Thorin had no problem holding them off with his shield, and none of them saw her coming before she buried her axe and dirk in their backs. A swift strike of Thorin's axe finished off the last attacker, and it was done.

"Well done!" Thorin embraced her with a proud grin.

It was true; they worked so well together. She retrieved her knives and was still smiling back at him, when the feeling hit her again. Two groups this time, one coming down from the north like the genlocks, one headed toward them from the other side.

"Shit. We're trapped between them." Sigrun muttered a few colourful curses under her breath as they retreated into the station. "What now?"

"We wait." Thorin listened, his whole body tense with apprehension.

The genlocks coming up from the south arrived first, a patrolling group much like the one they had just taken out. But as they got ready to deal with them, heavy footsteps on the northern road announced a more dangerous opponent. Hurlocks, at least six of them, led by a ferocious-looking alpha.

Thorin's eyes met hers, his gaze warm and full of love. _If this is it..._ At least they would die together, and take a few of the bastards with them. Sigrun took a deep breath.

Just then the hindmost hurlock went down with a strangled guttural cry, an arrow protruding from its massive chest. As one, the hurlocks turned to face this new threat, and the genlock patrol scrambled to keep up with them. Sigrun and Thorin didn't waste any time. Abandoning their cover, they quickly charged from the back. Between them and their unknown saviours, the darkspawn fell like flies.

The hurlock alpha put up the toughest fight. When it, too went down, the evil red eyes going dim, they finally had time to face their new-found allies.

"Stone's greetings, strangers." Their leader was a dwarven woman, with earnest dark eyes and strong arms, carrying a large shield and a well-crafted axe. Her face was heavily tattooed and she wore heavy red steel armour, emblazoned with a symbol as familiar to Sigrun as her own face.

"May we all return to its peace, sister." She cursed herself for her automatic response the moment it left her lips.


	16. Until the Stone Takes Us

**Chapter 16 - Until the Stone Takes Us**

Thorin lowered his axe and nodded at the newcomers. The dwarven woman had taken off her helm, and shook out her thick, chestnut-coloured hair.

Her strong, determined face bore an expression of disbelief as she looked at Sigrun. "Sister? Are you one of us?"

Sigrun nodded soberly. "I used to be, before I became a Grey Warden. My name is Sigrun, and this is my fellow Warden, Thorin. We owe you thanks for our survival."

The woman snorted. "A Grey Warden, eh? Haven't seen many of you down here lately. And what do you mean, you _used to be_ a legionnaire? Last time I checked, no one came back from the dead." Her face softened a little as she looked Thorin over. "Still, this is not the place to discuss this. I am Svana, Captain of this lot. Come with us to our camp and we can talk."

Thorin followed her with his eyes as she turned to go. The other dwarves with her quickly closed around him and Sigrun, as much to make sure they came willingly as to protect them, he guessed. He counted twelve legionnaires altogether, most of them heavily armoured, all of them blood-spattered and with the air of seasoned fighters. Two determined Wardens could probably take them on, but not easily.

When they reached the camp, most of the legionnaires quickly dispersed to attend to their respective duties. Svana gestured for them to sit down next to her at a fire hastily built from dried bronto dung.

"So, what is your story?" Her dark eyes were clear and perceptive, and Thorin hesitated, choosing his answer with care.

"We are Grey Wardens who have been separated from our companions." He exchanged a quick glance with Sigrun, who nodded almost imperceptibly. _Better not mention the whole mess back in Orzammar._ "We are very grateful for your help so far. Unfortunately we don't know this part of the Deep Roads very well, but if you could point us to the ruins of Kal'Hirol, we should be able to find our way back home safely."

Svana raised an eyebrow. "Kal'Hirol? That's at least a week's travel from here. How come you're so far from home? And what is a member of the Legion doing among you?" She motioned toward Sigrun with her head.

"We were chasing down some darkspawn stragglers when a cave-in cut off our way back." Sigrun lied without any apparent compunction. "As for me . . . " She raised her chin and looked at Svana, her expression defiant and proud. "I joined the Wardens after my whole unit was wiped out. I haven't forgotten my oaths. And when the time for my Calling is near, I swear I will come back and fight at your side, ceaselessly and until the Stone takes me."

There was a moment of silence, but then a slow smile spread over Svana's features. "Well spoken, sister." She extended her hand to grasp Sigrun's forearm in a firm clasp. "We will take the two of you to Kal'Hirol. It's a bit out of our way, but there's bound to be darkspawn to fight there."

"Maybe more than you think." Thorin felt honour-bound to speak. "You do realize that our presence will attract more of the monsters? By going with us, you endanger your whole unit."

Svana raised an eyebrow. "We are already dead. If we die sooner, we find our peace earlier. There is nothing to fear."

* * *

For all Svana's brave words, her expression became more grim with each passing day as they made their way north toward Kal'Hirol. Sigrun couldn't blame her. Several times a day, they had to fend off darkspawn attacks, and the further they went, the more vicious the monsters got. On the fifth day, they lost two legionnaires to a surprise attack by shrieks. The young men didn't stand a chance against the razor-sharp claws that tore their bellies open.

Svana and her companions entombed the dead men at a crossroads in a brief, sober ceremony.

At night they huddled around their fires, sharing drinks and stories. The legionnaires were a motley group, from all strata of Orzammar's society, and their reasons for joining were as varied as their backgrounds. Most of them were reticent and didn't wish to talk about the time before they had joined the legion. Yet, as the days passed, Thorin and Sigrun got to know a few among them better.

There was Arvid, a cheery young redhead who had lost a bet and been forced by his so-called friends to join. Always by his side was Elin, a sweet girl with long flaxen tresses, who had angered her noble suitor so much he had falsely accused her of stealing trinkets from his home. Knut, scarred and tough, had been convicted of more crimes than he could remember when the authorities had finally got their hands on him after a long and successful criminal career. And Svana herself had joined to save her family's fortune, forfeit because of her father's unfortunate gambling habit.

"Was there really no other way out?" Thorin shook his head in disbelief, but she just shrugged.

"No honourable one. And anyway, none of it matters now. We're all legionnaires down here. None of us will ever see Orzammar again. But we will make sure we take plenty of darkspawn with us when we go."

Svana was a strong fighter with her axe and shield, but it was her attitude rather than her prowess that made her a natural leader. Even Thorin submitted to her commands unquestioningly. He seemed fascinated by her, spending the evenings at her side more often than not, comparing fighting techniques and exchanging anecdotes.

He was there right now, at the far end of the cave where they had camped, the two of them earnestly talking, their heads close together. Watching them from afar, Sigrun felt a twinge of resentment, coupled with the tiniest sting of worry.

_Would he really-?_

Just as she told herself she was imagining things, Thorin reached around Svana's waist with his arm, placing his hand on top of hers as he showed her how to grip the axe for a special swing he had used on a hurlock today. She tilted her head back to smile at him and for a moment their eyes met and they both fell silent.

"What's the matter, luv? Feeling neglected?" Knut dropped down next to her and eyed her with a leer. "If your guy's too busy, just say the word, and I'll happily take care of you."

Sigrun got to her feet with a moue of distaste, not deigning to respond with more than a filthy curse and an obscene gesture in the old rascal's direction.

He laughed raucously, not at all offended. "You've got spirit, girl. Now, how much longer are you going to watch this?"

She ignored his jibes, though inwardly she agreed with him. Instead she made her way over to the pair, her lips set in a thin line. "Thorin. Can we talk?"

He looked up at her with a relaxed smile. "Of course, love."

They found a quiet spot in a corner and as they sat down, he seemed oblivious to her anger. But when he put an arm around her shoulder, he couldn't possibly miss the tension in her body. He pulled his arm back immediately, looking confused and hurt. "What is it, Sigrun? Is something wrong?"

"You could say that." The moment she heard herself, Sigrun flinched inwardly. She sounded so... spiteful, so childish. Yet, she knew she had to speak or it would continue to eat at her. "You and Svana... You..." She forced herself to look him in the eye and to speak calmly. "You are getting a little too close for my taste."

Thorin automatically opened his mouth to deny what she said, but caught himself just in time. Exhaling slowly, he took her hand.

"You are jealous." It was a statement, flat and neutral, no hint of amusement or accusation in his voice. "But you have no reason to be."

"Are you sure?" She didn't _want_ to sound so hurt, so desperate, but it all came out anyway and her face grew hot with shame.

"Of course I am." His grip on her hand tightened. "Sigrun, love, I won't deny that Svana is a fascinating woman. But I am yours. Only yours, for as long as we both live. There is no need for you to worry, ever."

Sigrun held her breath at the earnest conviction of his tone. She tried to answer, but her voice refused to cooperate and all she could do was look at him. He met her eyes, his own gaze open and clear and then he smiled at her and pulled her into a close embrace. "I love you."

She almost sobbed with relief, clasping his shoulders hard, allowing herself to be held by him, his strong arms a bulwark against the world out there. He made small soothing noises, stroking her hair, calming her like a nervous animal. For a moment she relaxed against him, but then she shook her head. He was incredibly sweet and tender, but tenderness was not what she craved from him now.

"If you love me, if you're mine, then show me." Her lips eagerly sought his, while her hands began to rove all over his body. "Blight it, Thorin, I need you. Now."

He kissed her, hard and passionately, but he caught her hands, shaking his head. "Later, love, when we are alone again. Not tonight."

Sigrun caught his lips for another kiss, suckling teasingly on his lower lip, moaning into his mouth. She heard his breath quicken and felt a soft shudder run through is whole body. But he gently pushed her back, inhaling deeply as he clenched his hands into fists.

Grinding her teeth in frustration, she fought the urge to scream. It was not as if any of the legionnaires would have a problem with them sneaking off into the darkness for a quick tryst. Arvid and Elin disappeared practically every night together, their faces shining with love and excitement.

Yet this was Thorin, and she recognized the stubborn look in his eyes. _Not tonight._

* * *

Sigrun shifted on his lap, her body hot and tight, and it took all his discipline to stop himself from grabbing her and dragging her off to a quiet side tunnel. With every fibre of his being Thorin yearned to show her that he was hers, and hers alone, to join her body to his, as close as they could get, to melt into her willing warmth.

Another wiggle brought her even closer and he groaned, deep in the back of his throat, his hips coming up to meet her of their own accord. Unable to stop his hands he followed the line of her waist, spreading them over her lovely wide hips, pulling her closer...

They both cried out in alarm at the same time, jumping up and reaching for their weapons.

"Ancestors!" Sigrun was pale as a sheet, her eyes wide with fear. "How many-"

"At least fifty." Thorin scanned their surroundings almost frenetically. "Svana! Quick. A darkspawn attack! They're coming from up north."

Svana's face was hard and businesslike, all their former banter forgotten as she barked orders at her troops. They rallied around her quickly, all of them alert and tense with expectation. Sigrun and Thorin took their places among them as if they had never done anything else.

And they waited. Already they could hear shuffling, scrabbling noises in the tunnels surrounding them. Thorin did his best to ignore the icy-cold lump in his stomach. _So many. We don't stand a chance._ He heard Elin whisper something to Arvid who responded with a merry laugh.

"Get ready, legionnaires!" Svana's voice was firm and clear. "Here they are."

The attack was devastating. Hurlocks charged at them from all directions while a rain of arrows descended from the genlock archers standing in formation behind the fighters. Shrieks whizzed past, clawing at faces and legs, their unearthly howls fraying their nerves. And the unmistakable drone of an evil incantation sounded in the background, announcing more horrors.

To Thorin's right, Elin went down with a soundless scream, her slim body skewered by a hurlock's lance. Arvid cried out, his face a mask of despair as the brutish monster raised the weapon and hurled her bodily across the cave, where she hit the wall with a sickening thud. Another legionnaire clutched his belly, trying to staunch the flood of blood from a gaping wound, while a third howled in pain and horror as his foot was taken off by a massive blow with a two-handed axe.

One by one the legionnaires succumbed to the darkspawn attack. Thorin bled from a deep gash on his thigh and felt his strength waning. Svana appeared to be still standing, but she was surrounded by so many hurlocks that it was hard to be sure. Sigrun was nowhere to be seen, which was not unusual in the middle of a fight, yet Thorin wished desperately that she was by his side, close to him. He didn't want to leave this world without her.

He stood his ground and swung his axe, again and again, blocking strike after strike, but deep down he knew he was only delaying the inevitable for a little while.

_This is the end._

 


	17. Home Again

**Chapter 17 - Home Again**

Thorin took advantage of a short lull in the darkspawn attacks to focus on his Warden senses. More foes were approaching, at least twenty, but there was something else... He was too exhausted to be sure, but it was a familiar presence. Just then there was a loud howl from the tunnel in front of him, and a large group of genlocks burst from it, shrieking with pain, their skin on fire, followed by the roar of an explosion.

And there was Sigrun, right next to him, her eyes shining with excitement. "A fireball! Someone is attacking them from behind!"

He nodded grimly, knocking aside a squealing genlock with his shield. "About time."

The darkspawn were in a near panic now, scrambling and rushing past them, trying to get away from whoever was behind them. A tall blond fighter appeared in the doorway, his greatsword mowing down genlocks like swathes of wheat. And right at his side there was a red-haired dwarf, armed with a massive two-handed axe.

Sigrun gave a loud whoop when she saw him. "Oghren! I can't believe it, but Ancestors, I'm glad to see you."

Oghren answered with a loud roar as he sliced the legs clean off a Hurlock before burying his axe in the monster's head. Together they attacked the remaining darkspawn with renewed vigour. With a rush of exhilaration Thorin saw Megan emerge from the shadows, two daggers raised in her signature attack style. The pain in his thigh subsided as a blue glow surrounded his leg. He almost cried out with relief. _Anders_.

They were saved now, without any doubt. Between them they finished off their foes almost without breaking a sweat. But even as he swung his axe and screamed taunts at the vile creatures, Thorin's heart grew heavy. _If only they had arrived a little earlier. So many legionnaires might still be alive._

As the noises of the fight died away, Megan and Anders came over to them, huge grins on their faces. "Andraste be praised! We thought you were dead! What-"

"Just a moment, Commander. Anders." Thorin stopped them with a gesture. "Before we talk-"

He led them over to the place where he had seen Svana fall. She looked bad, there was no denying it. She was still breathing, but most of her stomach seemed to be a single open wound. His throat constricted at the sight. When she saw them approach, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but Anders stopped her with a gesture and set to healing her, his face tense with concentration.

It seemed an eternity until the mage got up, looking exhausted but satisfied. "That should do it for the time being. I think we can move her now."

 "What about the others?" Sigrun indicated the fallen legionnaires around them. Only Knut was still standing, his face grim as he clutched his injured arm.

Anders cast a quick spell in his direction, then cocked his head to the side, appearing to listen. "Most of them are dead, I'm afraid, but-"

A few long strides took him to the far end of the room. Arvid was kneeling next to Elin, oblivious to their presence, his blood-spattered face a mask of pain and grief. "She's gone."

Kneeling down next to him, Anders put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yes, my friend. Will you let me heal you?"

Arvid shrugged, his eyes blind with tears. Anders chose to take this as consent. Thorin had to fight back tears at the sight of Elin's shattered body. _She was so young!_

He felt a hand on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Thorin. But they won't be forgotten, none of them." Megan's voice was warm and full of sympathy.

They spent a few hours burning the darkspawn cadavers and building a tomb of sorts for the fallen legionnaires. With quiet reverence, Thorin placed an axe on top of the pile of boulders.

"What about us?" Knut's face was too weathered to show much expression, but Thorin detected a hint of despair in his voice.

Megan extended her hand toward him. "We'll take your captain back with us for more healing. Why don't you come along too? And if any among you want to join us, I'd be more than happy. I've had nothing but good experiences with your kind." She flashed a quick smile at Sigrun.

After a moment's hesitation Knut took her hand with a nod. Arvid still seemed numb, but he followed them without a word.

They turned away from the battlefield. The two legionnaires took hold of Svana's stretcher. Oghren, Anders and the young fighter, who had introduced himself as Liam, took the rear.

Megan motioned for Thorin and Sigrun to join her in the lead. "Come on, you two. Let's get you home. And on the way, maybe you can tell me why you are a lot more alive than Bhelen's message made you out to be."

 

* * *

"Sigrun! And Thorin. Maker, it is good to see you!" The genuine joy in Nathaniel's voice put a smile on Sigrun’s face.

The archer looked well, relaxed and almost happy, as he came forward to greet them. He took both her hands into his, beaming at her, but when he turned to face Thorin his smile turned into a frown. "What happened to your hair?"

Thorin's face darkened. "Bhelen." He didn't elaborate further, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "The king will have to answer for this. Megan won't stand for anyone treating her Wardens this way."

Sigrun felt oddly touched. It was good to be back, good to be once more among people who cared for them. Good to be home.

But when she headed for the staircase and her old room, Nathaniel stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. We had to make new arrangements."

She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"About a month ago King Alistair sent us half a dozen new recruits. And then a week later Carver's brother Revon showed up with a bunch of apostate mages from Kirkwall." A brief shadow crossed Nathaniel's face. "With so many new Wardens, we've had to make some changes. Most new recruits share a room now, and Carver and I have moved in permanently with Megan." He grinned at their surprised faces. "Maker knows there's enough room for three in her suite."

_And obviously the three of you have decided you no longer care about people's opinions._ Sigrun grinned back. "Good for you! But what about my old room?"

Nathaniel seemed pleased with her reaction. "There are two new recruits in there now. But don't worry, we've kept all your stuff. Now, listen, the two of you are senior Wardens, so you have a right to a room of your own each, but I had a word with Megan and if you'd like-"

"We can share a room." Thorin met Nathaniel's gaze openly. "It's not as if we'd sleep in different rooms anyway."

"You're sure?" Nathaniel glanced at Sigrun who nodded enthusiastically. "Good. I'll take you to your new lodgings."

He led them to a heavy oaken door not far from Megan's own quarters, on the topmost floor of the Keep. "This used to be my old school room." He looked back at them over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. "But Megan had it completely refurnished. It was intended as a guest room, but now that you're back... I think you'll like it."

When they passed the threshold, Sigrun held her breath. The room was large and bright, even in the slanting light of the late afternoon sun. The walls were panelled in wood, and the stone floor was covered in cheery, colourful rugs. There was a huge four-poster at the back of it and several large chests lined up against the wall. Two padded armchairs flanked the fireplace, with a small reading table between them.

"Maker, Nate, it's-" She swallowed. This was nowhere near as splendid as their suite in Orzammar, but everything was so cosy, so warm and friendly that it made her throat go tight with emotion. "It's beautiful, Nate. Thank you so much."

"I'll leave you two to enjoy it." Nathaniel was already halfway out the door when he popped his head back in and winked at them. "You deserve some time to yourselves."

Thorin was very quiet, while they took off their armour and placed it on the stands in the corner, but when they had finished, he walked over to the hearth and sank into one of the armchairs with a grateful sigh, closing his eyes.

He looked tired and she still wasn't quite used to the shorter hair on him. Yet Sigrun's chest contracted almost painfully at the sight of him, his profile outlined against the light of the fire, the way his hair curled up against the nape of his neck, always unruly, never quite tamed. _Maker, what have I done to deserve this man?_ She was seized with a sudden urge to see more of him and she moved over to straddle him, busying herself with the laces of his thin shirt.

He opened his eyes to smile at her. "Think we should try out our new bed?"

She shrugged, helping him pull the fabric over his head. "Plenty of time for that later. I'm fine here."

_More than fine._ She had all his upper body to admire now, his strong arms with their intriguing pattern of tattoos, his wide chest, muscular and covered with dark, downy curls, his taut stomach, rippling when she followed the fine trail of hair down to his pants. He leaned back in the chair, letting her appreciate him to her heart's content, and not for the first time it occurred to her that he was fully aware of the pleasure she took in looking at him. Fully aware and more than a little vain about it. _But that's okay. I love you all the more for your little flaws._

Especially since he was only too ready to return the compliment. When she sat back and shrugged off her tunic, his eyes were everywhere, hot and full of admiration. No one had ever made her feel so beautiful.

"Maker, Sigrun, I've missed seeing you naked." The dark tremor in his voice did things to her she couldn't explain and she had to close her eyes to hide the naked desire flaring up in them.

But he knew it anyway, knew how much she wanted him, how hot she already was for him, knew it from the way her skin flushed and her nipples grew hard under his gaze though he hadn't even touched her yet.

"You're so lovely." Again that voice, strumming against her very core.

When he bent down and took one of the pebbled buds gently between his lips, flicking his tongue against her, she was utterly lost. Clenching her fists in his hair, she guided his head closer, begging wordlessly for more, and he followed willingly, his mouth locking tight around her nipple, sucking harder. She felt the pull all the way through her body, down to her core, and instinctively she rubbed herself against the bulge in his leggings.

He responded with a growl, pushing her off his lap without letting go of her breast, his hands feverishly working on her pants to get them off her. She took the cue and did the same for him, moaning when she freed his cock and felt him hard and hot and heavy in her hands. When they were both naked, he pulled her eagerly back onto his lap and she sank down on him without hesitation, as ready for him as she could be.

The armchair was just about wide enough for her to arrange her legs on either side of his hips, and its armrests gave her something to hold on to as she slowly began to move on top of him. He stopped her by pulling her into a long, passionate kiss that stole her breath, all tongue and teeth and heat and hunger. His arms were tight around her, holding her close to his chest, skin against skin, nothing but a fine sheen of sweat between them. Then his hands slid deeper until they rested on her hips and he lifted her, just a tiny bit before he thrust up to meet her again.

Sigrun whined with pleasure. She couldn't have said which was better, just having him inside her, filling her and stretching her, or feeling him move, the slow slide of his flesh against hers. Either way, she wanted it never to end, wanted it to last forever. And Thorin did his best to draw out the pleasure. Although he was trembling with the effort of it, he held back, until she lost herself in his embrace, drowning in his warmth and the sweetness washing through her from head to toe. When he finally let go, his whole body shook with the power of his release, his arms tightening around her so powerfully that she almost cried out in pain.

They held on to each other for a few more precious minutes. Bit by bit, it became uncomfortable, the armrests pressing against her calves, the sweat cooling on their skin making them shiver as the fire burned down.

"Dinner?" Thorin's voice was a low, satisfied grumble now.

"Oh yes." She hadn't even realized how hungry she was. And tired, but she needed food first.

Quickly they got dressed and made their way down to the dining room.

 

* * *

"Sigrun. It's good to have you back. And you, Thorin." Carver dropped into the seat opposite them, smiling at them over his trencher of bread heaped with venison.

"It's good to be back, too." Thorin smiled back, a little wistfully. He was glad to be alive, glad to be among friends again, but the memories of the fallen still weighed heavy on his mind. He could still see Elin's sweet young face before him.

"It seems like we were gone for ages. Lots of new faces." Sigrun motioned toward the neighbouring table where Anders was entertaining a group of young recruits with a convoluted story about his past exploits in the Mage Tower. He was caressing the ear of an exotically handsome elf with a distinctive skin tattoo who was perched on his lap, nestling affectionately against his long, lean body. "Nice to see Anders finally got over his obsession with Nate."

Carver was obviously still not past blushing. "Yes. He was very dejected for a while, even talked about leaving for the Free Marches. But Megan wouldn't have any of that. And ever since Zevran arrived here, the two of them have been thick as thieves." Carver glanced over at them. "I've never seen Anders so happy."

"And the three of you? Still going strong?" There wasn't a hint of judgment in Sigrun's voice.

Still, Carver's blush deepened and he sounded almost defensive. "Yeah, we're good. We..." He swallowed. "We're better than I ever thought I would be."

Thorin chuckled quietly to himself. Right behind him, Oghren plunked his tankard on the table with a satisfied belch, earning him a friendly slap on the back from Liam. Two tables away Velanna dropped onto a bench and smiled at Sigrun, and gave Thorin a reserved, but friendly nod. _So good to see them all again. So good to know they're alive and well._ One familiar face was missing, though. He frowned. "Carver? Where is Justice? Is he-"

Carver shook his head, a shadow crossing his face. "No, he... A few weeks ago my brother Revon was here. You don't know him, but he's quite the celebrity over in Kirkwall. He's a powerful mage, a spirit healer like Anders. He and Justice, they hit it right off and when it became clear that Kristoff's body was failing, he..." It seemed an effort for him to continue. "Revon offered to act as Justice's new host."

"He did what?" Thorin was stunned. "How is that even possible?"

"They... merged somehow. Justice is now part of him. Megan was furious when she heard about it. She all but threw Revon out. And now he's back in Kirkwall. I'll be travelling there shortly to meet him on family business, and I'm worried." Carver finally met their eyes again. "My brother, he... he's been unstable for years. Aggressive and fanatic about mages' rights. I fear for him, and for the people with him."

Sigrun put a calming hand on Carver's arm. "You worry too much. We all knew Justice. He was no demon, just a friendly Fade spirit. What could possibly go wrong?"

 


	18. Comfort and Companionship

**Chapter 18 - Comfort and Companionship**

Megan was woken by an insistent humming noise, close to her ear, not unpleasant, but irritating when all she wanted was to sleep a little longer after her steamy reunion with Carver and Nathaniel the night before. Something pinched her earlobe gently, and she had already lifted her hand to swat it away, when she realized what it was. _A wisp._ Anders' version of a knock.

And sure enough she heard his voice through the thick oaken door. "Commander? Please. It's urgent."

She rose with a yawn, slipping on a robe and padding toward the door. "What is it?"

"It's Arvid. The young legionnaire." Anders' face was earnest. "His wound was tainted. I did what I could, but the taint is spreading through his body like wildfire. We don't have much time."

Megan was immediately wide awake. "Of course. Tell Varel to get everything ready for his Joining. And wake the others, as many as you can. Thorin and Sigrun especially. They will want to be there."

When the door closed behind Anders, she leant back against it with a deep sigh, rubbing her eyes wearily. _A Joining._ In just a few hours, she would have a new Warden. Or a corpse on her hands. For a moment it felt as if the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders.

"Meg. Come here." Nathaniel was awake and leaning against the headboard of the bed, opening his arms in an inviting gesture.

"We need to hurry." She walked back to the bed and gratefully sank into his lap. "Poor Arvid."

Nathaniel didn't answer, just hid his face in her hair and hummed soothingly. He knew how much she hated this.

Next to him Carver stirred, opening a bleary eye. "What's going on?"

"Time to wake up." Affectionately she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "We need to have Arvid's Joining now."

Seeing her frown, Carver sat up and took hold of her feet, massaging them gently. "It's going to be alright. Don't worry."

She swallowed, but nodded, her face determined. "I'm sure it will. But I want you both at my side for this."

Nathaniel's grip around her tightened and Carver smiled. "We're here, Meg. Always." 

* * *

The Chapel was icy-cold this early in the morning, though the presence of so many Wardens helped warm the air a little. Arvid looked pale and feverish, his eyes dull and hopeless. Next to him Knut was calm and composed. When he'd heard about his friend's situation, he'd insisted on taking part in the Joining too. Svana was still unconscious, fighting for her life, or she would doubtlessly be here too. Thorin watched the new recruits, wishing there was anything he could do to help them.

As he took his place among the Wardens, many of them yet unknown to him, he swallowed as the memories of his own Joining came back, clear as crystal. Once more he heard the words of the ritual, once more he watched Megan raise the chalice, her eyes closed in silent prayer, before handing it to the two legionnaires.

Arvid went first, his face almost expressionless. He went down like a log, his body writhing in pain for but a few moments until he lost consciousness.

Yet when Anders checked him, the mage rose with a smile. "He's fine, Commander. Just needs a little rest."

Thorin took a deep breath. _He will need more than just rest to learn to live again._

Knut stepped forward, taking the chalice from Megan with a determined grasp. He swallowed the liquid without hesitation, then collapsed, much like Arvid.

Yet this time Anders shook his head sadly, when he had examined him. "He's gone, Commander."

Megan's face was unreadable. Thorin didn't envy her. To make this choice on a regular basis, to condemn people to either a quick death or the fate of a Warden - he knew her well enough by now to realize how hard it was for her. For a moment, she seemed ready to reach out for Carver who was waiting quietly at her side, but when Nathaniel called her name, she was at Arvid's side in a heartbeat. The young dwarf was already waking, muttering Elin's name and sobbing quietly. _Poor boy._

Oghren and a second dwarven Warden wrapped Knut's body up in linens and carried him over to an empty bier. The Wardens were talking earnestly and quietly as they left the room, two of them supporting Arvid as he swayed on his feet.

"Come on." Sigrun touched his arm lightly. "Let's get back to our room."

* * *

Two nights later Arvid joined them for dinner in the great hall. He seemed to have recovered well from his injuries, yet Sigrun felt a surge of pity, when she saw his wan, hopeless expression. Dropping on the bench next to him, she gently put a hand on his shoulder. He gave her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Sigrun suppressed a sigh. At least Svana had finally woken from her coma, and it seemed she would live.

The assembled Wardens tucked in with their usual hearty appetites. At the next table an animated discussion about the respective merits of axes and maces was going on among the younger recruits, while Zevran entertained Megan and Nathaniel with a lurid tale of intrigue and assassination from Antiva. Sigrun glanced over at Thorin who sat opposite her. He was listening with half an ear, smiling occasionally, but he seemed preoccupied, as if he was trying to work out a problem.

When dinnertime neared its end, Thorin rose to his feet, raising his hand to indicate he wanted to speak. It took a while for all the Wardens to get the hint, but then an expectant silence settled in.

Thorin cleared his throat. "Commander. My fellow Wardens." His deep voice carried easily to the far end of the room. "I am... We are glad to be back at Vigil's Keep." He smiled at Sigrun. "When the Commander found us in the Deep Roads, she saved us from certain death at the hand of the Darkspawn. Yet we would have perished long before, had we not chanced upon Svana and her legionnaires. They brought us back here, they fought at our side, and most of them gave their lives to save us."

There was a murmur of approval from all tables. Thorin turned to face Megan. "You said they wouldn't be forgotten, Commander, and I thank you for that. Yet..." He reached behind him for a wrapped bundle. _His harp_. Sigrun almost smiled, despite the sad occasion. "It's not enough."

Thorin took a deep breath as he unwrapped the instrument. "Where I come from, we honour the dead with ballads and songs that tell of their deeds. I'm not much of a bard, but I would kindly ask all of you to listen to this." He carefully tuned the harp, then took a deep breath and began to sing.

_"Sing of our heroes, stalwart and strong,_   
_Bravely they fought and died_   
_Let me to all their valour give song,_   
_And pain shall make way for pride."_

He sang of meeting Svana and her companions, of their valour and perseverance, of Knut's bawdy jokes and Elin's loveliness, of lives cut too short and tombs erected in the eternal darkness of the Deep Roads. Thorin's voice was rich and sonorous, perfectly complemented by the melancholy twang of the harp. No other sound could be heard in the hall while he sang. Arvid didn't speak a word, but he kept his gaze on Thorin all the time, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

_"Gone are our friends, cruelly slain,_   
_Deep in the stone they lie._   
_But in our hearts, their names will remain_   
_Until the day we die._

_Sing of our heroes, stalwart and bold,_   
_Bravely they fought and died._   
_Once all their valiant deeds will be told,_   
_Pain shall give way to pride."_

When the song ended, there was a brief silence. Then Nathaniel raised his tankard, his face dark and sober. "To the fallen." One by one the Wardens joined him in a quiet tribute. Sigrun took hold of Thorin's hand and grasped it tightly. He was trembling and she was well aware it hadn't just been the fallen legionnaires he'd been singing for, but all the other loved ones he had lost.

Megan rose from her seat and smiled at Thorin, though her face was streaked with tears. "Thank you so much, Thorin. That was beautiful. I'm honoured and grateful to count you among my Wardens."

Once again there was a murmur of approval. Looking around at her fellow Wardens, Sigrun realized most of them had been crying quietly. None of them were strangers to loss, and Thorin's song must have touched them deeply. _Not much of a bard, eh?_ Her heart filled with pride and affection. _My love._

* * *

Thorin sat down, overwhelmed by the response to his song. Elin's fate had weighed heavily upon him in the past few days. Now he felt oddly light, as if he'd been relieved of a great burden.

As they were making for the door, Megan took him and Sigrun aside. "We have to talk more about King Bhelen's actions. I won't accept how he treated you, and I will find a way to make him pay." Her lips were thin with barely restrained fury.

Thorin sighed. He'd had plenty of time thinking about the events in Orzammar during their journey through the Deep Roads. "I don't know, Commander. I wasted too much time on vengeance in my old life. Maybe it's best to let it go."

Megan shook her head. "So you think we should just accept what he did? Try to appease him while he rules as a despot, beholden to no one? I don't think that would be in anybody's best interest."

Thorin nodded gravely. "There may be good reasons to intercede. All I ask is that you don't let your judgment be influenced by what happened to us. To be quite honest, some of it was my fault. I made a series of stupid mistakes that made Bhelen think I was a threat. I may be an able warrior, but courtly intrigues and diplomatic subtleties are not for me."

Megan frowned, obviously not ready to leave it at that, but just then Carver called her over and she left with a brief nod.

Sigrun turned to look up at Thorin. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, love. Orzammar is a nest of snakes."

He shook his head. "No. I made a mess of things." He took a deep breath. The next words didn't come easy to him. "It's just as well that I ended up in your world. I...  I don't think I'd have made a very good king."

She smiled at that, gently touching his cheek. "Well, I'm glad you're here, king or not. And there's no doubt that you are an exemplary Warden."

Thorin pulled her into his arms, surveying the crowded hall with a contented sigh. His fellow Wardens. Each of them was ready to die for their brothers and sisters, ready to sacrifice themselves to prevent another blight. He was proud to be one of them. This was where he belonged.

This was home.

 

_*The end*_

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and thanks to HereBeDragons for agreeing to beta this for me. I'm so very grateful for her help and support!


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